Last week I set you the challenge of writing a story or poem on the themes of ‘Party‘, ‘Quirky‘ and ‘Race‘. I have to admit I wondered what on earth you would come up with. I wasn’t disappointed. It’s fantastic how each person can take a theme and come up with completely different ideas. I love it! Read the results below.
Naturally, we’re now moving on to S, T and U. So your themes are ‘Spy‘, ‘Trapped‘ and ‘Uppity‘. Well, it wouldn’t be a challenge if it was easy, would it?! If you’re in need of a helping hand or some motivation, click on the following link for my blog post on ideas for these themes:
Here are the results of last week’s challenge:
Keith Channing wrote a very entertaining topical story. If Scotland had voted the other way, could this have been a reality? Could it still??!!:
“Do you reckon we can still do it, Don?”
“We’ve come this far, Jim; don’t start having doubts now. Go and give him hell.”
They had, indeed, come a long way. When the campaign started, five short weeks earlier, the pollsters had initially written them off as no-hopers. How things had changed. Who would have expected that from the first straw polls, when support for them was at a mere 3%, they would have risen to second place, and be knocking at the door of the Tories.
Starved of support from the now-independant Scotland, Labour was on a downward slide, the like of which hadn’t been seen since John Major’s famous rout decades earlier. The revived Conservative Party, with Boris at the helm, has been holding on to their lead throughout, but were clearly concerned by the advances being made by HRE, Home Rule for England.
Close to the election date, Boris and Jim were face-to-face, debating in front of the television cameras.
“Do you have any idea, Boris, how much resentment there is around the country, and not only amongst HRE supporters, at the concessions you offered to the Scots in your desperate attempts to prevent the secession?” Jim asked, “and do you have any concept of the level of public disgust at the way you and your coalition partners have kowtowed to the Scots since their vote, giving them everything they have asked for, then asking them if they’d like more?”
“Now… now… now, Jim. Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little?”
“Not at all, Boris. You’ve given them a currency union; something all the parties said they would never do-”
“We had some very good, solid reasons for doing that-”
“But you then gave them a seat on the MPC”
“So they could have some input on interest rates”
“So, Boris, you are happy that a foreign country has the ability to determine UK interest rates.”
“Hardly a foreign country, Jim.”
The audience, an equal mix of invitees of the Conservatives and of HRE, with more than a smattering of representatives of the press corps, clearly took umbrage at that last remark. The level of heckling from both sides, and shouted questions from sections of the press was enough to halt the debate.
The following morning’s newspapers were unanimous in awarding the debate to Jim and HRE, and all the polls gave HRE an overall lead of between seven and thirteen percent.
The future starts here.
Jason Moody tried his hand at poetry for the first time ever last week. I think he’s got a talent for it as the following poem shows:
Is a pigment, yes, a colour
The way that we define a soul
Be it white, brown or other
Why must we pigeon hole?
Two eyes, two ears, a hooter
Arms and legs and more
Be it English, Russian, Eskimo
Perhaps you’re rich? Or poor.
Is a person lesser?
If he or she has different hue
Do they deserve your hateful words
Unfound, unjust, untrue
Is a pigment, yes, a colour
The way to define a soul
Refrain from skin tone prejudice
See the person as a whole.
Jasdeep Kaur starts off her story with her usual intensity. You’ll love the ending!:
Unprecedented Blast
I was sipping on my favourite cappuccino, when David, the birthday boy, came scampering.
“Friends, stay where you are,” he announced loudly, “I’ve got information of a bomb in this hall.”
“Bomb!” everyone gasped and started moving towards the door.
David shouted, “I asked you not to move. The bomb could be anywhere.”
We looked back. He was sweating. His fearful face sent jitters to my stomach.
He said, “The detonation squad will be here soon. Till then, friends, please try to keep calm.”
The callous room was quieted. The only things we could hear were the clock ticks and our heart beats.
The door flung open. Two men, in uniform and helmets, darted in. As soon as the door slammed back, a shrill beep was heard. The clock ticks were suppressed with louder ticks. They were coming from the table where the cake was.
“The bomb has been activated,” one of them said, “ask William to stay outside. We must not open the door again, or the bomb may blow.”
The second man signalled the third man with his finger movements. Then he walked with sloppy steps towards the first one.
Both fiddled with the wires. After a pause, the second one asked his comrade, “Can we do it without William?”
The first one said, “We have no other option.”
There were worried voices all over the room.
The first man severed a wire. The bomb started ticking faster.
His comrade screamed at him, “You have cut the wrong wire. You should have asked me.”
“I know what to do,” came the reply.
The comrade said, “Don’t deem yourself as William.”
I could not see their traumatizing clash at this moment and said, “Please leave your ego and think of saving us.”
There was no response from them.
I rushed towards the door to call William. The men shouted in chorus, “Don’t do it. The bomb will explode.”
When I looked at them, they were cutting another wire.
I froze.
A bullet came out and hit the ceiling triggering the blast. I felt no pain, but the hall was full of small bits.
The door behind me opened shoving me ahead. William was in. The three men removed their helmets and along with David they said, “Happy Fool’s Day!”
“Guys, I am sorry, but it was my fate to be born on April 1st,“ David said laughing, “and from now on, I think, you’ll not call me the biggest fool.”
We, still flabbergasted, could not come out of the shock, but when we did, David got the hardest birthday bumps ever.
Esther Chilton 
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