I don’t want to fight

But I am called into battle

Yet I am asked to be strong.

I don’t want to fight

But I am called into battle

I have seen so much pain

Yet I am asked to be strong.

I don’t want to fight

But I am called into battle

I just want to get away and rest

Yet I am asked to be strong.

I don’t want to fight

I don’t want to be strong

I don’t want to be asked no longer

I am simply not that strong.

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Dexter Pearson

As a child, I loved to eat Mars bar eagley: having small bites and using both fingers to shove the little crumbs of chocolate in my profusely watering mouth. I grew fat because of this, ‘Little chubby Dexter’ I was called whilst growing up in Dagenham. I was always picked on and my mother used to try to calm me down by saying ‘Dear Dexter’. I would get bad grades in class, I am sure you can relate to the bullying readers, I sometimes would lose concentration in the class like a bull losing its horns from his head due to the name calling ‘fatty’, ‘chubby’ or ‘roly poly’. But I am Dexter I wanted to say Dexter Pearson, but I didn’t have the guts to stick up for myself at that time, nor today for that matter. I did try to lose the weight, I joined the Essex group ‘little runners’ who ran through Barking Park as I was around eight at that time, but I looked like a ball bouncing up and down the park lanes and the children would laugh at me as I used to dru...

The Evil Step Mother’s Point of View - Cinderella

‘I hate you, you old bag’ she screamed as she threw the bowl across the room. I had made her favourite dish soup, which I had spent ages cooking in the kitchen. Her father had told me that it was going to be hard to be accepted as her new mother, but this was much harder than I had imaged. ‘Mum we have tried, I offered to give her my new dress’ said Gemma. ‘I said that I would take her to the ball with us’ said Louisa. ‘What can we do? She calls us UGLY sisters, it’s so cruel cried Pamela. I hugged my three daughters closely, I wanted Cinderalla to accept us as we had with her. But she hated us, calling me a ‘wicked stepmother’ and slamming doors. She would cry and portray us as ogres. With the arrival of the Prince inviting us to go to the ball, I even tried to invite her but she was spoilt and rude. ‘I don’t want to go, you old bag, GET LOST’ she shouted. ‘I will get there myself’ she stormed off as usual to her room. ‘I miss my mum, you marrie...

Miranda

OUT NOW Dione the new virtual reality system. The huge billboard poster flickered with the only advert holographic projection . The streets were dark, but the advert illuminated like a candle making it the centre of attraction as though it was the essence of existence, but for the majority it had become. ‘Wow that looks amazing, I have to get it, it’s better than the Miranda system which came out last year’. Said my brother walking with me down the street, drawn to it like a mosquito to the light. He was addicted about getting a new headset every year. He was actually putting the Miranda system on as we spoke, going to the Prehistoric age, immersing himself in another world. Everyone was wearing one, but I didn’t. This was my world, the future, a world of virtual reality. Headsets in every home, laying on the coffee table instead of books which were no longer existing. No one read anymore. They were a way of escaping the actual reality ...

Collection of Short Stories and Poetry

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