Sunday 30 January 2011

Soldier poem, by a Child

This soldier poem to read online was written by a very young child. How does a child learn about war?



6 soldiers off to war

6 soldiers one by one,
March down the muddy path
6 soldiers two by two,
Fell in the murky bath

6 soldiers three by three
Roasted a chicken last night
6 soldiers four by four
Are going off to fight

6 soldiers five by five
Hiding in the mud
6 soldiers one by one
Die and leak red blood

By Sabreena's daughter 2002

Soldier Poem to read online

Spooky Story to Read Online - Demons, Curses and Talking Furniture

This great spooky story to read online was written by Sabreena's daughter before she was ten years old. If you like demons, curses and talking furniture, read on...



Chapter 1

It was Halloween and Emily was getting ready to go trick or treating. It was around 7 o’clock and she had just slipped into her witch costume.
“Emily, come downstairs! Edwina is arriving!” Called mum. Emily rushed down the stairs still pulling up her zip. There was a knock at the door.
“Here she is, now” Smiled mum, walking towards the door holding Emily’s trick or treat bag. “ Here you go” She handed it to Emily, and Emily walked out the door.
Emily walked up the garden path with Edwina and her mum.
“you two have fun now, come back here at 9 o’clock, OK, Emily?” Said her mum, kissing Emily on the head, and heading back inside.
“Let’s go up my lane first” Smiled Emily. They walked off down Emily’s lane, and knocked on Mrs Thistle’s front door.
“TRICK OR TREAT” They cried, holding out their bags. She dropped 2 chocolate bars into each bag. They made their way up Emily’s lane, then went up
Daisy Avenue
. At the end of
Daisy Avenue
, (which was quite a long road) they arrived at the old McKinley house. The garden was spooky, dark and scary. The house was high, dark and creepy. This house was the most scariest house in the village.
Old McKinley once lived there, now it’s known to be haunted. A girl, called Ella had once trick or treated there. She was invited in, by McKinley, and she wasn’t seen after that. Some say she was killed, some say she was hypnotised. But, there was one thing for sure, nobody lives there now.
“I’m not going up there!” Cried Edwina shivering. “That’s too spooky!”
“Oh, you fraidy cat!” Laughed Emily, pushing her from behind, so she jumped with fright.
“If it’s so un scary, why don’t you go up there?” Said Edwina opening the gate. “Or are you too scared?”
“No!” Cried Emily, strutting up the path. As she was out of sight, she turned back, and saw Edwina, trying to spot her in the darkness. Emily felt coldness around her.
Emily quickly knocked on the door, and instead of silence, the door creaked open.
Emily gasped.




Chapter 2

Emily stepped in. A fire was burning, and the room seemed dimly warm. When she had stepped in far enough, the door slammed behind her. She jumped in fright.
Suddenly, she saw a pale face staring at her.
“Who are you?” Said the person. From her voice, you could tell it was a girl.
“Let me out!” Cried Emily. “Let me out!” She was pulling at the door handle, but it wouldn’t move.
“I’m sorry, new comer, Door  won’t let you out, when I’m here” She whispered, putting her hand on Emily’s shoulder.
“What do you mean, he won’t let you go?” Asked Emily.
“She isn’t going anywhere, with me as her door!” Said a big booming voice, coming from the door.
“What’s that?” Whispered Emily, running into the middle of the room.
“ That’s the obnoxious door, sweetheart’ don’t talk to him, ees’ trouble!” Said a strange women voice, coming from the sofa.
“All my furniture talks you see, they are all my friends, except Door, here” Said the girl. “Hi, I’m Ella”
“Ella?” Asked Emily. “Why are you here?”
“I can’t get out, my master doesn’t allow me too” Sighed Ella, bowing her head.
“Who’s your master?” Asked Emily again.
“Oh, he’s the foulest, most meanest and power fullest, demon in this country” Cried Ella sadly. “What’s that, I feel it in my heart! He’s coming! Hide, young girl, hide!”
Emily rushed over to the sofa, and hid beside it, in a small gap between the chair and sofa.
Ella quickly bowed to her knee’s, just in time, as a big black figure walked in.
“Get up ,you lazy goat!” It cried, in a horrible voice.
“Yes, master” Whispered Ella.
“Get me some blood, servant!” He cried, sitting down on the sofa.
“Hey Ella!” Cried the sofa. “Don’t give him too much blood, he needs to loose weight, I should know! He sits on me every night!”
Emily watched in horror, as Ella stabbed her own arm, and blood came dripping out into a blue cup. After it was full, she brought it to her master. He drunk it all, then left.


Chapter 3

Afterwards, Emily came out of hiding.
“Why do you let him do such monstrous things to you?” Asked Emily, angry at the demon.
“He has hypnotised me, to do what he pleases, it’s my curse” Ella sighed, a tear running down her cheek.
“I’ll help you loose your curse” Said Emily jumping.
“You wouldn’t last a day as a curtain over here, leftie!” Cried the right hand side curtain.
“Stop being mean, Righty, let’s hold strings and make up” Said the other side.
“Stop being mean Righty!” Cried Ella.
“Does everything in this house talk?” cried Emily rhetorically.
Every single object in the house cried at the top of their lungs (if they had any, which of course they didn’t) “YES”
“What’s that your reading?” Asked Emily, sitting down on the sofa.
“Ooh! Now, that fat demons but was hard and lumpy, but yours sweetheart is fabulous. Your buts like a feather!”  Laughed sofa.
“It’s a spell book” Sighed Ella. “I can’t do any spells with a curse on me, I wasn’t much good anyway”
“How did you get here, and cursed?” Asked Emily. Ella sat next to her on the sofa, holding the spell book in her cold hands.
“Well, I was trick or treating here, and then the man invited me in…it’s all a blur now though” She held her head, then clasped her heart. “He’s coming back, hide Emily, hide!”
Emily squeezed back into her hiding place, and watched as the beast entered.
“I need more blood” He snorted, snuggling himself onto the sofa. “What’s that I smell, human?” He sniffed, while she emptied her blood into the cup. Halfway across the room she fell, with the cup still in her hand.
“Oh, no” Chuckled the demon. “I seem to have drank all her blood, I need more, more, that smell must be the blood” As he said this he left, happily, looking for more blood to devour. Ella lay, motionless, on the cold wood floor.






Chapter 4

Emily jumped to Ella’s side.
“It’s that monster, he’s devoured all her innocent little blood” Cried Sofa.
“Maybe there’s a…erm…spell…yes! A spell! Where is her spell book?” Cried Emily, hopping towards the sofa. She picked up the book, and read the spell to give blood.
Emily bowed her head in towards Ella’s, and opened her mouth, and gently sang a tune. Her voice spread through the whole house, bringing even the most selfish of objects to be beckoned. They all listened, and with out a doubt, liked it. Ella’s head lifted.
“You, you Emily, you saved me!” Cried Ella, hugging Emily.
“She’s alive! My darling little daughter!” Cried the sofa, shaking.
“Daughter?” Asked Emily.
“No, my real mother is Shelley McKim” Said Ella, still squeezing Emily. “Emily, you have magical powers, we can’t explain them!”
“Shelley McKim?” Cried Emily in shock. “That’s my aunty!” 
“it can’t be!” Shouted Ella letting go. “That would mean…”
“Your cousins?” Smiled Leftie.
“We are cousins? My mum, Suzan, never told me Shelley had a daughter, let alone child!” Cried Emily.
“Are you going to help me find a spell to unlock that beastly door, and get my curse lifted?” Asked Ella, handing Emily the spell book. “here’s the page! Look, look, say it to that door!” Ella had changed in somewhat ways, since Emily had first met her. She had become more happy, and confident, and now she knew they were related, a bit confused.
“Don’t you dare spell me!” Shouted door angrily.
Emily read the words, and whispered to the door, while pointing her fingertips at it, and the door flung open.
Emily walked out, normally, but being locked inside a house for years, you would want to make the most of new air, new sights…
“This air, is so, windy, and fresh” Smiled Ella, touching the grass.
“and this grass, it’s so…soft, wet, hmmm”
“Hurry up Ella, we need to get to my house!” Cried Emily.





Chapter 5

“Is this your house?” Asked Ella, as they walked up to Emily’s front door.
They knocked on the door, and as her mum opened the door she jumped with joy and hugged and kissed her.
“Where have you been?” She cried.
“We have no time, mum!” Said Emily. “When did you plan on telling me that the Ella girl, was my cousin?”
“You...you’ve found her?” She gasped. “Ella, my niece, is that you? I have to call Shelley!” She pushed Ella to her heart, and they rushed in.
“Quickly, El!” Whispered Emily. They sat down inside holding the spell book.
“So, this is my long lost niece, and Shelley’s long lost daughter. Edwina has been worried sick about you Emily, she was practically in tears, when she explained what happened. And you’ve actually found her, inside the house. How did you get food…and, who looked after, oh, Ella, you’ve grown so tall…” Mum began, the door opened. In the doorway, there stood Aunty Shelley.
She had blonde wavy hair, spotty, (and a little chubby) face. Her clothes were trendy, and she stared at Ella like she hadn’t seen her for 5 years. (Infact, that is pretty much what did happen).
The same looked crossed Ella’s face, and she arose and ran towards Shelley. They hugged and kissed, and mostly cried for about 5 minutes, when Ella fell onto the ground, clasping her heart.
“He’s coming! He’s coming! He knows where I am, help me! Help!” She cried. Shelley fell to her knee’s and comforted Ella.
“He can’t find you!” Emily shouted, sitting with Shelley, comforting Ella.
“Who is coming sweetheart?” Asked Shelley.
“My master, I feel it! It’s the curse!” She wept, curling and twisting on the floor.
“ it’s the curse, she got it from the owner of the old house she was in. It’s a curse, we need to un do it!” Emily said, as Ella sat up.
“He’s gone” She panted.
“The spell book, pass me the spell book!” Cried Emily. Mum passed her the book.
“Mmm…lets see…this spell is meant for two” Sighed Emily.




Chapter 6

“You can do spells?” Asked mum.
“Oh, Susan, you’ve given it to her! She has magic too!” Laughed Shelley, sitting with Ella and rocking her calmly.
“You mean…you know magic?” Cried Emily, surprised.
“Let’s do the spell then” Smiled mum, and they chanted out words together.
Ella started shouting and crying again, he was coming closer, and suddenly it just stopped.
“it’s worked! Emily, oh thank you!” Cried Ella happily.
You’d think that was the end of Ella and Emily’s torture was over, but it was not.
After Emily and Ella explained all about it, mum and Shelley decided it was time to take action and kill the demon.
“Right, Shelley, lets look up the spell to kill this demon” Said mum, flipping through the pages of the book. It was old now, but looked new before.
“This is it…’to destroy evil…use: 3 people” Frowned mum reading the page out loud.
“I’ll do it with you and Shelley!” Cried Emily jumping up and down.
“Oh no dear, I don’t do magic anymore, it’s going to have to be you and Ella, and your mother” Frowned Shelley.
“Me? I can’t! I really can’t mother!” Wept Ella.
“Yes you can, Ella, you can…chant it with them” Smiled Shelley, stroking Ella’s blonde stringy hair.
“Han Key mead...” They chanted over and over again.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and in walked the man. Ella panted in fright.
“Keep going” Whispered Shelley, holding Ella’s hand tightly.
It was being drawn in, Ella got more and more afraid. It was only steps away, and just then, it fell. Dead. On the floor, motionless, he turned into dust.
“You’ve done it! Ella! My sweetheart!” Shelley cried happily. They all cheered, except Ella.
“I wasn’t telling the truth mother, it wasn’t him that stole me, it was orb” She whimpered quietly.




Chapter 7

“Who’s orb?” Asked Emily, sitting down with Ella.
“Its even worse that demon, it’s his father. He is more than thousands of years old! He gave me to his son, Demon. Orb, is the most scariest, I hadn’t seen him for 10 years, until then. I saw it in his eyes. I had never been scared of Demon, that was my curse. But Orb, he took me to the highest level. I’m scared mother” Cried Ella.
“We must find him” Frowned Shelley.
“No! We can’t find him! He’ll kill you!” Wept Ella.
“He is obviously not affected by spells by 3 people. We will have to bring in reinforcements.” Said mum.
“No! I’m not letting you, I’m not going! Good night!” Shouted Ella, going to bed. Every body else went to bed there too.

It was in the middle of the night, Ella was having nightmares. She jumped out of bed, and searched the house. Nobody was to be found. She called out, and Shelley came to her side.
“Where are the others?” She asked.
“Gone out to find this Orb” Whispered Shelley. “Now sweetheart, let’s get into bed”
“WHAT?” Cried Ella. “No! Why didn’t you stop them!”
“Because I was trying to help you” She smiled.
“How is it helping me?” Wept Ella. “The only thing it does is give me a bloody heart attack!”
“It’s helping you face your fear, your lucky we don’t make you kill him yourself” Shelley said. “Now, into bed”
Ella was left crying in her bed, with Shelley comforting her. What
Would happen with Orb? Will Emily and her mother die? Will Ella finally give in and fight Orb, or will Emily, Shelley and Susan have to pay Ella’s price?

By Sabreena's Daughter 2005

Spooky Story to Read Online - demons, curses and talking furniture

Thursday 27 January 2011

Ancient Sparta - a story about Sparta in Ancient Greece

This story about ancient Sparta concerns a Spartan baby boy swapped at birth with the child of a Helot maid to avoid the infant cull. This is the first part of this story set in Ancient Greece.



Ancient Sparta Story - Part One

-Look! How strong he is!
Cynisca let the days-old infant clasp her forefingers and slowly draws him up. His head lolls backwards but he does not let go.
Cleitagora feels his arms and legs and barrelly torso.
-And how firm
They stretch him out on the table and measure him with their hands
- Over three spans!
-How does he take to the nurse?
Hagesichora lifts herself on her elbows and beckons to a maid standing in the shadows.
The three Spartan women are wearing short tunics in fine white linen. They are open at the sides and belted at the waist, earning the women their nickname, ‘thigh-flashers’. They tie across one shoulder and are held in place by an ornamental clasp with a sharp spike which doubles as a weapon.
The Helot maid, Nanno, wears a similar tunic, but longer and more shapeless, being made of leather. At Cynisca’s command, she undoes the shoulder ties and lets it drop to her waist.
-A fine milk factory there.
-Look, you can see it oozing out.
Cynisca and Cleitagora are fascinated. Only Hagesichora looks away, ashamed. Cynisca uses her finger and thumb to draw milk from a swollen nipple, and lifts the resultant drops to her lips, then nods to her sister, who passes the infant to the maid.
The boy seizes on the breast readily and sucks lustily. The two women watch approvingly, Hagesichora now watching too, unable to look away.
-He’s a fine feeder, that’s for sure!
-She has another one, doesn’t she?
-Her own boy, the same age
Cynisca, a foot taller than the diminutive maid, takes Nanno’s chin in her hand, looks into her tilted face. It would be beautiful, is still beautiful, but for a heavy ridged scar running completely across her face and passing over the bridge of her nose.
-You are to feed Anaxis whenever he wants – you understand? You will feed him until he sleeps or drops off the breast.
She squeezes the chin, fingers digging under Nanno’s delicate jaw. The maid can neither nod nor talk, but speaks her submission with her eyes.
-And only then – only when Anaxis has taken all he can – only then can you feed your own brat. Do you understand?
She twists the face to and fro to punctuate her last words. Nanno struggles to keep her balance and not to upset the baby at her breast. This time Cynisca needs no acknowledgement but her fear.
-Bring the brat here, I want to see it
Cleitagora signals and another maid slips out from the shadows to return with a baby bundled in goatskin.
-Put it on the table
The child is undersized, with dark wrinkled skin. He labours for breath.
-You should throw that child away
-As you would, Mistress
The infant can smell the milk. He opens its tiny mouth wide and begins to make sucking movements with his lips.
-I hope it won’t be a greedy baby, sister, and take milk from Anaxis
He raises his arms and legs into the air and his tiny body begins to convulse. He is building up to a cry. The women watch until the first tremulous wail breaks out of him. His thin cries gradually build to a desperate mewling.
-Mistress-
-What?
-I can take one baby to each breast, Mistress.
-No. You take Anaxis to one breast, then the other. Only when he has had his fill of each, can you feed yours. Did I not make myself clear earlier?
Cynisca’s voice is icy. She signals for the Helot boy to be removed. Out of the room, his cries can still be heard. Nanno moves Anaxis to the other breast, where he continues to suck vigorously.
Cynisca is smiling now. She approaches Hagesichora, gives her sister a rare embrace.
-At last you have done well for the family. The Gods are pleased with us, that they have sent us this fine son. Whatever displeased them before, that is over now. Our family’s reputation is intact, we are all fine bearers of men.
The frantic wails of Nanno’s baby are distant but distinct. Anaxis is sucking slowly now, lingering at the breast, almost sated. Cynisca and Cleitagora watch the maid to see how she will react, with a mixture of cruelty and interest. But Nanno’s eyes are lowered and she does not give to move, even when the baby finally drops off the breast, tiny mouth open, eyes closed in a puffy, satiated face. Only Hagesichora seems anxious, her face wretched.
-I’ll take him to his bed
-Let her do it
-Sister?
-You won’t want to waste time mothering him, not at this age. Plenty of time for that later.
-You need to get your figure back first. Your sister and I were always back to full fitness ten days after the birth.
-Yes. You’ve lain in bed long enough.
Nanno has laid Anaxis in a rush basket beneath the window. She stands and waits, her eyes still lowered. She has refastened her tunic. The screams of the far off infant, are more intense, more desperate.
-Your brat’s still crying
-Yes Mistress
-Got any milk left?
-Yes Mistress
-I suppose you want to feed it?
-Yes, Mistress
-I don’t know why you waste your milk. That thing will die before long
-Yes Mistress
-Go on then!
Nanno runs from the room, and shortly afterwards the crying stops. All three women listen, but it does not start up again.
-She did have some milk left, then
-It’s a pity she did. I should be ashamed to raise a child like that.
-I don’t like it, sister. However we might police her, she’ll be sneaking off to feed her brat whenever she can. Milk that should be for Anaxis.
-We should get rid of it
-We should. But we can’t afford the fines.
-If it were only October…
October was the month of the when Helots could be legally culled, when a word to the right person could remove a troublesome servant, an insolent labourer or an unwanted rival. Remote villages where rebellion festered could be destroyed overnight in exercises that also provided useful military training. And any Helot who was considered too bold or bright, could be picked off at this time, for the Helots were not suffered in any way to compete with the wit and beauty of their masters.
Nanno’s father had been well known in their village for his size and great physical strength. Indeed there had been talk, when he was a baby, of the masters adopting him and raising him as one of their own, but it had come to nothing. A close eye was kept on him nonetheless, and a closer eye still as his sons grew as fine and sturdy as himself. Nanno was his only daughter.
When Nanno was five, during the month of October, the Krypteia came to her house in the night. They killed her father and her three brothers with the implements of their own household. She and her mother were spared. The soldiers inspected the little girl and noted that, even in her distress, she was markedly beautiful. They did not rape the mother or the girl; they considered that to be licentious and wrong. Other Spartans might lower themselves to mate with Helots (incurring a fine at this point in time), but the Kryptes were the Spartan elite, ultimate enforcers of the will of the state. They were the strongest and fittest in body as well as the purest in mind.
So they left the females alone. But before going, one of them held Nanno’s head back by her hair and used the family’s kitchen machete to strike her a blow across the face with its heavy blade.
It was enough, enough to maim but not to kill her, enough to make sure that her beauty would never rival a Spartan maiden’s.

By Sabreena 2010

The next part of this ancient Spartan story will be posted soon.

For more interesting information and facts about Sparta and Spartan women in particular, see my suite 101 articles on wife of Leonidas Queen Gorgo of Sparta and Princess Cynisca of Sparta, the first woman to win an olympic gold medal.

Sunday 23 January 2011

Time Travelling Story by Sabreena

This time travelling story is a short story to read online, about 1700 words long.
Its title is Bridge Hay.



Bridge Hay
We start, far out at sea. The ocean stretches all around, flat and glittering in the sunlight. We are rushing forward, just above the surface of the waves, close enough that we can taste the salt on our lips and even see the dark shapes of fish swimming beneath them. There is a feeling of mounting excitement as we speed along and sure enough, before long a strip of purple land appears on the horizon. The land comes closer quickly; we can see the white spray breaking against the tumbled rocks and cliffs. Our path is changing, veering; we are making for a break in the cliffs where a wild, semi-wooded valley makes its way down to the sea. All at once, we are high above the valley and by the soft reds, greens and golds of the trees, we can see it is Autumn. As we look down, a spear of sunlight illuminates one particular patch of woodland. To this part of the forest, by the effect of the light on the russet and amber curves of the foliage, we are irresistibly drawn. We fly closer – and it is only now you realise we are indeed flying – and find ourselves descending to the forest’s edge. There, I set you down gently, and then throw myself back into the air, glad to be free of my burden. It is your story now.
You find yourself on a patch of open hillside, covered with rough grass and bushes. Above you, a forest begins; below, at the bottom of the field, stands a large, graceful house. As you rise to your feet to look at it, the memories come rushing back – not in a flood, but in ones and twos – in brilliant images. The name of the house; Bridge Hay. The four children that had lived there, each with a bedroom looking out onto the hillside, and the marvellous adventures that befell them.
You gaze happily at the house. There are chimney stacks reaching up from both sides of the sloping roof, as well as one taller one in the middle. The white-painted front faces out across the valley and the sea, but the back of the house is of brown stone and gives out into the hillside, with the woods only a short distance away. The four identical gable windows, all in a row, are the very windows that the four children looked out of on that winter night so many years ago. Those woods, so sunny and gentle-looking now, are the same storm-lashed forest that they dared to enter.
On that night, the children threw aside their patchwork quilts and climbed out of the wooden cots with carved sides, in which they slept. Shivering, they pulled on clothes, and lighted candles to take with them – but who could keep a candle alight in such a gale? The forest outside had been turned by the storm into a black, howling beast. Yet all four children had answered the summons when it came, for they shared the same adventurous spirit.
The wind flung sheets of rain over them, soaking them to the skin as they crossed the hillside; their way fitfully lit as the clouds opened and closed their angry fists on the moon. As they reached the forest’s edge the roar of the wind through the trees rolled out like the voice of a creature deep inside it, and the darkness ahead was profound. Still they did not hesitate, and plunged into the blackness.
Slipping on wet leaves, whipped by branches, they lost one another at once and their frightened cries rose up to join the wind’s lament. Then they passed, as if through a veil, and found the place that had called them. It was a forest still, but silent now and empty; full of solemn grandeur. They tip-toed, holding their breath, through trees huger and more stately than any they’d grown up with.
Then out of the silence came music, wild music but muted, and they felt themselves growing until their heads were level with the giant trees, and then far above them. Then they looked down, and the treetops were clover leaves, and they were in a sweet sunny meadow dotted with friendly ash and birch. Scattered around were lumps of grey and brown stone. The children began to explore – but, stop. You are a story maker, not a story teller. Walk on, go to the house, see who lives there now!
Obediently, eagerly, you obey, hurrying down the hillside, feeling the ground bump beneath your feet. As the house grows nearer, you become more excited. You can feel the magic pouring off the house, from its doors, gables and window-panes. The trees around seem welcoming and as you breathe in, even the air tastes sweet – just as you remember. Cautiously, you approach the three white semicircular steps that lead up to the garden gate. An oval sign in black, white and pink enamel reads BRIDGE HAY, with a sprig of blossom painted above it.
The front of the house is stately and calm. Tall windows are placed so their panes reflect the glory of the setting sun. The well-tended lawns and gardens slope gently down the hill. After passing through the small white gate, there are two ways to go – to the left, down a gravel drive to the grand frontage, or to the right, up a small, brokenly-paved path. This is the path you follow, leading between two over-heavy laurel bushes up to a kitchen door that looks as if it could do with a lick of paint. You hesitate at the door, knock, and then push it open. You glimpse the kitchen, paved with red flagstones, but before you can observe any more, a crowd of children in dirty pinafores come racing out at full speed, all with their mouths open, and yelling at the tops of their voices. You dart to one side and let them pass through the doorway; whereupon they scatter and their pursuer comes to an abrupt halt.
“Brats!” she screams after them but they are out of sight by now. She is dressed as a housekeeper, and she has a harassed look about her.
“Brats,” she repeats in a much more subdued tone, “How’m I expected to do my work when I’m plagued by such a set of demons?”
She begins, with small touches, to put her uniform and her hair, which is sadly disarrayed, back in place. When she has finished, some of the hectic colour had disappeared from her cheeks.
“So,” she says, “Sit down, stranger, and tell me your news. I’ve work to do, and work must wait on visitors.”
You ask her about the children. Was she still living in the house when they had their famous adventures? The question appears to affect her deeply. She heaves a great sigh. “If only you knew,” says she, “of the battles I’ve fought to keep this house going. Things were different in those days. We had quite an establishment. Oh, everybody used to come here in the old days, when the master and mistress were still here – everybody! And then, of course, there were the children. Such lovely children – and so brave! But still – they’re all gone now. There’s only me left. And those brats from the village, that plague the life out of me.”
“Something terrible must have happened?” you surmise softly.
The housekeeper nods vigorously and meets your eyes with her own full of tears. “If only you knew,” she repeats, “how much I’ve struggled. It used to be a busy house – full of activity. Each in their proper place and all with a part to play. And Christmases – I wixh you could have seen one of our Christmases – the lights, the food, the singing and dancing, the decorations –“
You feel a great compassion for the tired-looking housekeeper. In your wish to comfort her, you tell her how well the house looks, and how none of the old magic has been lost.
“Have you been here before, then?” she asks, a tiny spark of hope kindling in her eyes.
“Yes,” you tell her, “I was born and brought up in this very house.”
Her wrists shoot out from under her cuffs and she seizes your arms in a tight, bony grip.
“Who are you?” she demands urgently.
“I am a traveller in time,” you tell her, “I am exploring my past.”
“Time traveller, can you see the future?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then tell me – will this house ever be full again? Will the owners return and bring the house back to life? Will my labours be repaid, at last?”
Behind closed eyes, you see many pictures. You see Bridge Hay humming and full of people, children playing in the garden. You see it empty, but beautiful, with the housekeeper’s face at the window. You see it derelict, with branches growing in through the windows and ivy creeping over the flagstones. This is the image you concentrate on, and it becomes sharper. You see that parts of the house have tumbled down and that the forest has somehow got closer and now encircles the ruins.
When you open your eyes, the housekeeper is still looking at you expectantly. The words do not want to be said, but in the end you say them.
“Bridge Hay will be abandoned at last.”
She believes you completely. She begins to weep, a luxury she has not allowed herself for many years. She packs her bags, still weeping, and sets off for the open road, leaving behind the charge that has been her master for so long.
You watch her back as she disappears down the hillside. She does not look round and you are glad for her. You sit yourself down in the spacious front drawing room. There is plenty of time. Time to watch the house imperceptibly fall down around you. Time to watch the gradual encroachment of the forest until the tumbledown building is quite hidden from view. And finally time to wait, to wait for four children to discover the ruins...
by Sabreena 1992

To read about the reality of time travel, see my suite 101 article Psychic Tests show the Future can Predict the Past.

Thursday 20 January 2011

World of Warcraft Story of the Future

This World of Warcraft is set in a not yet imagined expansion of the future. This 700 word story is Part One of a slightly longer short story about Warcraft characters that think and feel.
File:Stena Arctica engine room 2.jpg
Part One - Inside the Engine Room

Hari stood very still. The bot came closer and closer, its great snake-like head swaying over him, red ayes glaring. It was six, maybe eight times his height, and made of shiny black metal. Hari closed his eyes and tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter as he waited for its sensors to pick him up for the annihilating swipe or stomp. The Engine House bot would kill him with one hit. Hari had no armour, no defence, no weapon, apart from a rusty dirk that would inflict a laughable four or five points of damage. He could hear its motors whirring as it paused above him and looked around, and he wondered if he would feel the pain of the crushing blow before he died. He waited, and waited…but the blow did not fall. Hari opened his eyes to see the bot whirling on its axis and beginning to lumber off in a new trajectory. He had evidently been just beyond the reach of its sensors. He let out a long, trembling sigh, almost a laugh, and for the first time since entering the Engine Room, he sat down. Immediately, he began to feel his strength return. Sitting cross legged, he carefully swivelled round, looking at and orienting himself to all the objects he could see. This one small square seemed to be a safe spot, just beyond the patrol radar of the bots. The DMs had slipped up there, but it was not surprising, they were human after all and humans make mistakes.

Hari pulled his knapsack off his back and took out a lump of pale cheese. He ate half of it, taking care to catch and eat all the crumbs that broke off as he gnawed at it. Then he wrapped it back in a piece of linen cloth and replaced it in his bag. Next he pulled out a small waterskin that was half empty. He could easily have drunk it all, but allowed himself only a small gulp to wet his dry throat and help the cheese go down. He sat up a little straighter, and relaxed. Next he pulled out his dirk and fingered its rusty blade. Such a sad little weapon, he could kill no more than a rat with it. Still, it was all he had, and maybe could be traded for something better one of these days, especially if he could get his hands on some gold to smooth the deal. Not that there was the slightest chance of that, down here. Even if by some miracle he killed an Engine House bot, they wouldn’t be carrying gold, only mechanical parts, valuable in the right quarters but far too heavy for him to carry and way beyond his skill to use. Apart from these three items his knapsack was empty. He had been left with the bare minimum necessary to survive. Even his clothing – a brown woollen tunic, worn boots and leggings – was the lowest available, offering so little protection he may as well be naked.

Once again, Hari took his bearings. To his left was a huge engine shaft and in front of him and to his right a row of command consoles with two Worker bots, non-patrollers, operating them. The gap between them was at a 45 degree angle to where he sat. Hari drew a marker line on the dusty floor with his finger. Then he had a better idea. With the point of his dirk he scratched a circle around himself. There. His safe space was permanently marked out now. This tiny square was the only place in the cavern-like room where he knew he would be safe from attack. A room so vast its true dimensions were impossible for him to make out, the far walls and the high ceiling lost in gloom.

The floor began to shake. The giant bot was returning to him again on its patrol sequence. Although Hari knew it would not see him, he still felt his heart begin to pound, the fear rise in his throat. But this time he forced his eyes to remain open, fixed on the terrifying form as it stomped closer and closer. Its eyes glowed above him, but as before it did not see him; only swivelling around and then turning to go. Hari began to breathe again. He felt the impulse to taunt the bot; shout at it, but he resisted. For all he knew it had sound sensors too. Such foolishness would be a luxury.

Fed now, and watered, Hari had two further pressing needs – warmth, and sleep. Lack of both were combining to bring a leaden quality to his limbs; if he did not sleep soon, his energy levels, replenished temporarily by the food, would drop dangerously low, impairing his movement abilities so much that he would never be able to leave this spot. True, he could lie down and sleep where he was, curled into a ball. But the spot was too exposed; there were many sources of warmth in the engine room but this draughty spot was too far from them all. He would wake frozen stiff. What he really needed was a base in the Engine Room, a little hideaway from which he could venture out to satisfy other needs that would soon become more pressing. More water and food, for example. A single safe square on the Engine House floor may be enough for an inanimate bot, but not for him. Besides, the DMs might change the patrol pattern, or the range specification of the bots at any time. And Hari needed the feel of walls around him, the safety and comfort of being able to shut out the world. He needed a base.

He scanned his surroundings once more. He was looking for small, semi-concealed entrances and exits; gaps between consoles, ducts, vents and shafts. Places too small for the bots to access. Hari knew they must be there, and if he could get to one he might survive a little longer. He peered through the gloom, wishing he still had his spyglass with him, x50 magnification. He quickly put the thought away from him. There was no point in dwelling on what he had lost.

He could see something that looked hopeful….

Further Parts to this World of Warcraft story will be posted soon. Follow the blog to make sure you don't miss them!

By Sabreena 2005

Saturday 15 January 2011

Poem about Merlin and Vivien

Poem About Merlin and Vivien
It was foretold that the magician Merlin would meet a witch maiden who would betray him. Merlin met and recognised her, but still could not resist her.
Merlin’s Song
All my wisdom, all my lore, lies useless as a page
Ripped randomly from some spell book dropped by a careless mage
A hundred years of learning, a lifetime’s mental toil
Thrown aside in ecstasy, a useless clump of soil


None could match or harm me, my skill surpassed them all
And yet for you, sweet child, I fell, and I became your thrall
I knew you were my downfall, yet I ran out to greet
The dreadful fate I’d spent my life attempting not to meet.

Vivien convinced Merlin to tell her the secret of his power, and then used it against him to imprison him forever in an underground cavern.

Vivien’s Song

In an empty cavern, where no warm breeze stirs the air
Only dark and dampness may make their home in there
Powerless and destitute the ancient, fetal, lay
Far from all the comforts of love, and life and day

And up above his head, on green turf I skipped and played
The merry wanton maiden who had his prison made
Rejoicing in my power, that I had conquered then
And revenged for all my sex the arrant juggernaut of men.

By Sabreena
Merlin and Vivien

Sunday 9 January 2011

Poem for January based on John Constable's Watercolour "An Ash Tree"

POEM FOR JANUARY




















John Constable's watercolour "An Ash Tree"




Sad Ash

Tall tree

Bare land

Thin tree

Sad man

Under tree

This is

January.


By Sabreena

For more seasonal poems and quotes see my suite 101 article Quotations and Poems about February


Poem for January based on John Constable's watercolour "An Ash Tree"