Short Story

Thursday, 19 December 2013

This is something that I wrote in 2011 for my English Language GCSE, and for a while it was my proudest accomplishment (it was topped by raising over £800 skydiving in November 2012). I've not read it for over a year, and I'm still every bit as proud. Enjoy!


Tied shoelaces; a symbol of normality. A shadow; covering the harsh, cruel reality. A cub in an untamed jungle, a small boy stood alone. A pair of grubby socks were pulled high as to hide the shame of what lay beneath. Blood oozed from his already grazed knees, as if he were a soldier in battle. A puzzled look was painted on his face; a desired need to fit the pieces together. No matter how much he tried, there was always one maddening piece missing. Trepidation had struck his feeble body, but he had no way of portraying it. He was a brimming bottle, waiting to be released from his torture. Two lean twigs pertruded his smart cotton shirt; one hand hanging feeble, one hand grasping a small object. He clung to it as if his life depended on it.

In a normal world, the curious object would cause an uncontrollable uproar - but this was not a normal world. It was one where conflict, murder and bloodcurdling endeavours were a regular event. Despite this being a well known fact, humanity put on a performance: they act naive.

No look of fear fell upon his fragile face, yet bravery was a hidden hope in his lost existence. Forced from his treasured home like a weed, an unwanted flower, he took shelter beneath a drab death-trap. Is this how life should be? Is this how an innocent boy should spend his childhood? With no mother to care for him, he turned his trepid eyes to the family taking a stroll in the bustling park. They were happy; they were together. In a world of their own, their merriment penetrated the summer air. An alarming wail escaped the infant's chapped lips - he longed for affection. He longed for someone to turn to. He longed for friendship. Proceeding towards the forlorn boy, the female of the group escorted the youngsters in a different direction, avoiding the eccentric screams of distress. No one wanted him. But who would? The mysterious object started to beep, like a ticking time bomb of bloodshed and tears.

A cub in an untamed jungle, a small boy had stood alone.

Edit: the short story was based on a photo by Diane Young, which you can see by clicking here

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