Friday, 16 December 2016

The Election Results.

By George Fairhurst
Let’s analyse this mess

So, that happened. I don’t want to type what just happened down, every time is just a stab to the brain cells that thought we were better than this. Donald Trump. Racist, sexist, homophobic, several times bankrupt, yet he managed to beat war monger, rapist defending, fracking supporting, charity stealing, Libya bombing and Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton. God where do I even begin to analyse this mess, I suppose I am going to start with the facts, then move into my rhetoric against everything. Let me just start with this though, this election has proven to me that I should never trust any sort of American journalism aside from the grassroots as Huffington Post, MSNBC, Fox and CNN predicted a Clinton win. 98% WERE THE ODDS ONE PAPER GAVE THAT HILLARY WOULD HAVE THIS IN THE BAG! 

Wednesday, 23 November 2016

A Review Of Spotlight

By Bethany Aveyard
Note: This is a review of the movie Spotlight (2015), which revolves around the sensitive issues reported by The Boston Globe in 2002. You don’t have to read on.

The Reunion

Written by Phoebe Walker

The dictionary definition of the word remorse is deep regret or guilt for a wrong committed. People who suffer from remorse can end up having to decide which of two roads they will take; either they will forgive and forget the person who has wronged them, or they will traverse on the side of danger and attempt to seek revenge on the person that has made them feel shame, humiliation or pain.
Remorse is a poisoning of the mind that is hideously painful and, in a very few cases, can lead to lapses of judgement, which may be fatal. It causes depravity of the mind and of sleep; this causes the person to become less in control of their actions, which can lead to “accidents”. Shut off. They show no emotion or interest in others, which causes people to desert sufferers, which may be accidental or deliberate.
I had always had a strained relationship with my family. As soon as I was old enough I had packed up and left for somewhere far away from the grasping and clawing hands of my family. They wanted to control me, but I was too strong, too wild to be tamed.
Calm, just keep calm. It’s only for a day, just one day.                  
Inhaling deeply, from the little silver flask, trying to find the oh-so subtle odour of the comforting friend that I had come to rely on so deeply. The warming liquid slowly slithers down my throat, causing a burning but pleasant pathway as it travels down into my gut and making me glow with a quiet confidence that I had not felt since it happened. 
I would need that confidence to get through today. 
My hand was clasping the steering wheel as the mountain ranges and rivers ran carefully under my nearly translucent skin. I then reach for my necklace, it was one of the last memories I had of him and it was my main source of comfort during my low points.
Calm, just keep calm. It’s only for a day, just one day.
“Come on, come on; just get out the car, the sooner you’re in, the sooner it’s over”. With that I get myself out of the car and find myself walking onto the footpath. I freeze as I am about trespass onto my family garden. Unconsciously my hand reaches for the necklace and a gentle breeze of calm washes over me. Deciding to walk across the grass, rather than the path on the drive, was a major decision I found myself making very quickly, taking the drive seems too formal, to normal, and this and what my family were certainly wasn’t normal. Crossing the grass silently, I quickly find myself standing in front of the oak front door; the stain glass shines through onto me and makes me glow in shades of blue, turquoise and red.
It’s just one day, just one day. Calm just keep calm, it’s only my mother. I mean what’s the worst she can do?
With that thought I clutch at the necklace. I then find my hand reaching for the knocker and before I know it, I dropped it and the gentle thud, thud, thud of the knocker echoes around me. I see the outline of my mother and I inhale as she opens the door.
“Carrie!" she exclaims, as though she has seen a ghost. It hurts to see that, I feel so unwanted, so unloved, nothing more than a ghost haunting my family.
“Hi, Mum” I mumble under my breath.
An uneasy moment passes that drags slowly, but you can feel the hundreds of emotions pass quickly.
“Would you like to come in?” she asks,
“Yes, thank you”, and with that I was stepping inside my past.
Calm, just keep calm; it’s just for a couple more hours.
I look around and realise nothing has changed since I left. The house is pristinely clean, so clean that it almost has the air of doctor’s surgery. My shadows reflecting off of the white walls made me feel nervous like I’m being stalked around the house; The walls are covered in art, a mixture of modern and classical; The furniture is modern and expensive, in shades of pale grey and blue; This house lacks the feeling of a home.
I feel her eyes trailing me up and down and feel them pause on the necklace that I realize has worked its way out of my top. Reaching down I carefully hide it away again, not wanting her, of all people, to see it. An uneasy silence has set in as we look around the room, our eyes never meeting.
“Where’s Dad?" I question, not being able to sense his usually sense of messiness (and wanting to end the awkward silence).
“I-He...We,” she stammered “We decided to file for a divorce”
“Oh.” I say casually, as though I had just been told that it was going to rain tomorrow.
“Come on, come on, let’s go through to the kitchen and we’ll have a cup of tea.” Mum says as she gently squeezes my arm.
It’s nearly over.
We walk through the house with a trail of the past pursuing us. The scuff that I had caused on the skirting board that I had kicked in fit of rage and had been painted over and there are no photographs of me anywhere to be seen.
The kitchen was always my favourite room in the house with it's massive, airy space but esentially one of my main escape routes out of the house and into the garden. I go and stand by the French doors, making sure not to touch the glass, my foot kicks against the cat flap that had long been out of use. Nothing has changed, the cherry blossom is blooming, like it was when I left, the swing on the tree has rusted and is falling off the hinges, as I go and sit down at one of the high silver stools. I notice however something is different; there are small silver boxes all over the garden. Traps. Mouse Traps.
 “Having trouble with vermin?” I ask her response generally interests me. If he had been here he could have dealt with them in a heartbeat for her.
 I hear the kettle click on and the gentle bubbling of the heating water.
“No. Nothing a few good traps won’t solve” she replied cheerily
“Poison’s best. It kills them and they’ll never come near here again.” I argued.
“I’m not as brutal as you are” she replied simply. “Carrie, do you mind if I ask you something”
“Depends on what it is” I reply curtly
“Why do you still wear the necklace? It’s been nine months since the accident, don’t you really think...”she’s cut off by me.
“Accident? Accident, you still think that it was an accident? What you did to him?”
“Oh for God sake Carrie How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? It was an accident”, she yells.                                     “Do you think that just because you say it was accident, just because you’ve said sorry, that makes it alright because it doesn’t. It really doesn’t. You took him away from me.” I scream back in her face.

A period of quiet follows my last statement; the only sound that follows is the deafening screech of the kettle.

“Could you just excuse me for a minute.” my mum said; as her voice broke I realise that it wasn't a question.
“I’ll make the tea” I answer. Calm, keep calm; you’ve nearly done it, it’s nearly over.
Pounding. My heart feels as though it is about to burst out of my chest. It is defective as it is filled with nothing but hate and loathing towards the woman who is the reason I am alive. My legs are shaking and I stumble as I get to my feet. I look frantically around the room, searching for something familiar; the dining chair, the cat bowl, the doormat. They're all the same.
The cups are in the exact same place as they were when I was growing up; I reach up and pull down two. As I pour the water in I see the colour slowly diffuse across in the cup and watch as the colour goes from a deep pink to a dark crimson. The white powder slowly dissolves into her cup and I know it’s nearly over.
I hear the gentle click of her heels as they cross the cold marble floor and she takes a seat at the high breakfast stools.
“I’m sorry," I say "you’re right of course, I should begin to move on and I think that this visit will really help me to begin to start to do that.” I add, with a real sincerity in my voice. 
“He wouldn’t want me to be alone forever. Take this a peace offering of sorts.” I say as I pass her the steaming cup of tea.
“Well thank you, does this mean I’ll be seeing more of you?”
“Maybe, who knows” I reply.
We drink the tea as we chat and I end up staying for dinner as we catch up. For a split second I feel like I do belong here, but then I remember the past and there’s too much to forgive.
Stay calm, I tell myself, it’s nearly done, I’ve nearly done it.
During dinner, I notice that mum has gone very quiet. Pain flashes across her face like lightening does across the bleak night’s sky; her face is full of pain and hurt. Her eyelids have begun to droop and she is squinting her eyes as though something or someone was too far away for her to see.
“Are you alright Mum? I ask my voice and face filled with concern.
“Yeah... no ... not sure.” she slurs, which is odd as she normal has the most perfect diction I have ever heard.  “Just a migraine, I get them when I’m stressed.” The slur of her words is becoming worse with each second.
“I’m just going to go and take some tablets, please carry on eating; I don’t want your food to get cold”. She stumbles and trips as she rises to her feet and crumples to a heap on the floor.
“Oh God, mum you’re not alright are you?” I ask sarcastically as she begins to convulse in front of me. Clawing at her throat as she struggles to find the air to breathe, her hands grip me as a look of panic and fear creep in and begin to constrict her. My arms cradle her, like she is my child, and I watch as the tears roll down her slowly ageing face.  I tilt my head to one side, like a child would do when they are curious.
“You know you shouldn’t have done what you did. I will never forgive you” I spit at her with so much venom behind it, it would have caused her to drop dead on the spot.
I rise to my feet and turn my back on my mother for the last time, walking slowly down the corridor, and out of the door, closing it behind me, leaving my past behind the door and locking it tight. I had confidence I had not felt since she had killed him and a wave of calm passes over me as I reach for the necklace around my neck and feel the familiar shape of the diamond paw print. He couldn’t buy it for me of course but I had imagined that he had. I take it off and let it fall down the drain in front of me and I watch as it falls and is choked by the stinking stagnant water.
I walk up the drive and to my car. I turn on the engine drive away slowly, taking one last look at my childhood home.
It was over.

Justice had been served and it had gone purr-fectly well.

Writing Platforms- Which Are Best?

Written By Becky Holderness

I don’t know about you, but for me a major part of being a writer is sharing your work with the rest of the world. There’s nothing worse than writing something which you’re incredibly proud of and having nobody to share it with, which is exactly what inspired me to first post a story on a writing platform, working my way through Fictionpress, Wattpad, Figment and, finally, Penana.

A Great War Review

Written By George Fairhust

A review?  
Alright, put away your sparklers and stop with the “waaaaaaays” of enjoyment as I have decided to write a review after stating I would focus on news. For those wondering what the hell has happened, it’s that there is a big piece coming that will be a little more serious as it has made me livider than a UKIP Party candidate (You know who I’m referencing). So whilst I’m getting the editing done and wording it to capture how utterly narked I am, I thought I would bring something to light that deserves attention in the form of a review? I’m not too sure what this is as I’m not rating it, I’m simply making it clear I love this.

Doctor Strange Review

Written by Phoebe Walker

Doctor Strange is easily the Marvel Cinematic Universes biggest risk to date and could be classed as the Guardians of the Galaxy of Marvel's Phase Three. Thankfully, like Guardians of the Galaxy, Marvel takes what could effortlessly have been a massive shambles and turns it into an intelligent and thought provoking film, with stunning visual effects and a plot to match and most importantly the famous one liners and quips to diffuse the tension.

Wednesday, 26 October 2016

So You Want To Know About Attila the Hun?

Written By Clarissa O'Neil

You may know of the Huns from films such as Mulan or Night at the Museum and his depictions as violent and barbaric were more that accurate. You think the name barbarian would give that away.
Nevertheless he was a very effective leader, between 445 and 453 he expanded his empire from, you guessed it, Hungary to Northern Italy at which point his troops ran low on supplies and medicine, meaning after a lil’ chat with Pope Leo I he decided to go home and die, from apparently a nosebleed (allegedly, it's possibly it was caused by chronic alcoholism.)