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CONTENTS

Page

Group photograph 2 Authors’ Contributions Wasp in a Wine Glass Alan Bissett 3 Field Study Helen Lynch 7 Loyalties Wayne Price 13 National Health Lynda Radley 14 Peace Brothers Peace Allan Wilson 18 Young Peoples’ Contributions A Reader Callie Addison 26 Aged Linsey Duffin 27 Facade Ashleigh Grant 28 Untitled Amy McBain 29 Preservation Beth Nicoll 32 Secrets in a Name Kirsty Wright 34

Steven Knox, Chairman; Allan Wilson; Wayne Price; Alan Bissett; Gayle Gorman, Director -

Education, Culture & Sport, Aberdeen City Council Helen Lynch; Lynda Radley; Elspeth Murray

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Wasp in a Wine Glass Alan Bissett

Yes, madam?

Glassay white wine, please.

Of course, madam. That’s £3.70.

Whoof, no shy are yese?

Ha ha, I don’t set the prices.

Awright if I sit in yer beer gairden?

Nice n sunny, know.

Certainly, madam, that’s what it’s there for.

Even though I’ve got a glessay wine but?

What’s that, madam?

I’m sayin. I’m gon intay yer beer gairden.

But I’ve got a glessay wine.

No a beer.

Ha ha. Good one, madam.

Snice oot here.

…just that we’ve been waitin that long for the sun, know…

Mm.

She settles in the sun and reaches for her wine. She stops before it reaches her mouth

and looks into the glass

Haw, scuse me, son? Can I get another wine?

So soon, madam? My, someone needed a drink!

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Naw, there’s a wasp in ma wine.

Well, don’t tell everyone, madam. They’ll all want one! Ha ha.

Naw, there is but.

Just flew in the noo.

Ooh. Ah. Look at it there, splashing about. Eech. …their legs, you see… …don’t like their legs…

Naw, naebody dis, son. Can I get a replacement glass, please?

Sure, no problem. There you go.

Well…

Yes, madam?

You wantay pour some wine intay it?

Oh, I see. Of course. There.

Thanks.

That’ll be £3.70 please.

Aw. Aw I didnay mean… Didn’t mean what, madam?

I thought ye’d mibbe…

Maybe…?

Well. I thought ye’d mibbe give me a replacement wan on the house.

Oh. Ah. Well, you see… Well, you see, no. Madam.

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It’s not really the house’s fault that a wasp flew into your drink, is it?

Didnay even get a sippay it but.

Yes, and that’s a shame. Mm.

Right.

So…uh… That’s £3.70 please?

Right.

Thing is.

Thing is right.

I don’t really see how I should be peyin for it, son.

I mean, I’m no bein funny or nothin right, I ken it’s no your fot.

Buy like the, em, the incident happened on your premises.

Does that no make youse liable?

‘Incident.’ Hm. Cough. Uh, not really, madam. You see, we’re not really responsible for the, uh, the insect life, as such. You see?

Aye, but what’s a wasp? What’s a wasp?

Okay, tell me. What is a wasp?

It’s a pest.

I mean, you wouldnay tolerate a man in yer beer gairden bein a pest, would yese?

Or a rose-seller.

I’ve seen yese chase them rose-sellers.

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And they dinnay even sit in folk’s drinks.

Ha ha, yes I see what you mean, madam. Ha ha. Not… quite the same though, is it…?

So if a rat had climbed ontay ma table oot there and shat in ma salad?

Would yese have refunded me that?

Uh…yes. Yes, we would.

Well.

Dae wasps no dae shits?

Madam, do you want the drink or not?

Aye, I want the drink.

Well, it’ll be £3.70, please.

She scoops the wasp out of her first glass And drops it in the second.

The she downs the contents of the first glass in one. And exits.

He tuts and watches her go. Then he puts his hand into the glass to scoop out the wasp. It stings him.

7

Field Study Helen Lynch

I see them as they come out of the trees into the cornfield, ducking under the

wire. There's a stile, but they come out further up. The way from the bus-stop

goes along the edge of the copse. I'll catch the same bus, only lower down the

hill, when I go to college next year.

The boy has a stick, striking the bushes with it, and the nettles too I

suppose. The boy comes first, swishing his stick, taking big strides. She

follows after. I've a feeling he’s not letting her catch up.

She has on a wine-red dress, the kind you get from the Indian stall in

Gosford Market, the kind my Mum won't let me buy, says I'd look like a

blooming hippy, a flower-power child. Well, that's the idea isn't it? The dress is

a lovely colour, makes warm hollows as she walks or bends to the wire. She

has a proper bust – not like me – so the material falls all floaty in pleats and

shadows. She's got cowboy boots too, and a straw bag with books sticking

out. She looks a bit like one of those French postcards, sort of old-fashioned

with her hair up and wispy bits by her ears. You know, the ones with girls all

rosy, with old-fashioned lace and doves – and cornfields come to think of it –

and big straw hats. They take them with a special lens. Any case, the colours

she's wearing are too strong – you need pastels for that kind of card – but you

know what I mean. She still can't reach him, though she's put out her hand

and saying something. I don't know what he's got on. Jeans, I think, and a

black leather jacket.

The corn has still a kind of green haze about it – not in it exactly, but

hovering – like it does just before it turns. I like to come up here, have done

ever since we moved this side of the village last year. Before that we lived on

the Estate, nearer the middle. I was up the Rec all the time with my friends.

Now it's more reading. I did miss it a bit in the beginning, but Dad says, what's

the use being a builder if you don't build for your own? Dad likes to make the

most of what's given him.

What's the use having fourteen brothers if you don't put your muscles

together? That's another one of his. They have this building firm, see. Tanfield

Bros. Not all of them, just seven. Not Uncle Lenny. None of them would want

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him where money's concerned. Dad's the eldest, so he's sort of the boss.

Fourteen brothers. Two of my uncles are younger than me. I've only got three,

fortunately – brothers that is – and a sister. None of them' ll go to college, I

don't reckon. I'm the only one that's interested. We have a lot of these what’s

the use-type arguments nowadays, because his point of view is very different

from mine. I mean, he's glad I'll be going to college and that – if I get my

predicted grades – that's using what you got. Just so long as I don't start

dressing like some grubby student, he says. But he doesn't see why I have to

take it so far, why I don't go out like Trish and Darren do. I tell him I like

reading.

'What, them telephone books?'

He always calls them that, says they're that thick.

'It's only Tess,' I say. It still gives me a thrill calling it 'Tess' like that,

like we're on first name terms. But he goes and says 'Tess who?', and makes

me feel stupid. Tess of the D'Urbervilles, of course – but I know I can't say it

in such a way as to make him feel small. It' ll sound daft even to me with him

hearing. 'Tess of the what? Any relation to Hound of the Baskervilles?' That's

what he'll say. So I pretend I haven't heard him and sweep out. Hound of the

Baskervilles has been on the telly – he hasn't read it of course. Actually,

come to think of it, neither have I. Dad boasts the paper's all the reading

matter he's needed in years.

'Ain't that right, Flo?'

He often calls my Mum 'Flo', from the Andy Capp cartoon. He used to call me

it too sometimes, when I was younger and used to help him. Only help he

gets now is with the crossword.

'What's the use having a clever daughter if she don't give you a hand

with the crossword in the paper?'

So I have to do it. I don't like crosswords, any case. When I got a clue wrong

the other day he was on about it for hours.

'Let her be, Ray,' my Mum says.

But even then he's on at me to go up the village and help one of my Aunties.

My Mum's one of twelve and all, so there's no shortage of them. Honest, we're

related to half the village.

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Round Christmas and Auntie Yvonne and Uncle Derek's twenty-fifth, we had a

family get-together in the Victory Hall. I brought my friend Sarah from Gosford.

I know her from school.

'Are those all your family?'

She couldn't believe it, except we all look so alike. Apart from Angie, a little

girl my Auntie Margaret adopted when her mum and dad were killed in a car

smash. Sarah said that every time anyone was explaining to her who was

who, they'd say 'oh and that's Angie – she's adopted.' As if they needed to,

Sarah said, the kid was the only blond one in the whole room. She thought it

was ever so funny. We're all dark, skin and hair, and quite a lot of us are curly.

Dad jokes as how we were Gypos not far back. It explains Uncle Lenny, he

says. Sometimes I wish I could go right away.

This is as far as I get. My track follows the bottom edge of the cornfield.

Down left there's a beautiful view, stomping behind the pylons along the

valley. Panoramic I think you call it. But I mostly look the other way. I prefer

views upwards, with things appearing over the tops of other things, clumps of

trees, barns and hedgerows sliding into sight above the corn, and the woods a

lopsided collar against the hill.

They can't see me, and perhaps that's what I like. A clump of scraggy

ash trees adrift in the corn hides me from them. They're not looking, any case.

She's got him to stop. I didn't think he would, but he's turned, leaning

on a post at the edge of the field. Her arms are very white to the elbow, where

the sleeves of the red dress come, and she's moving them a lot, reaching

forward. He has one of those Zippo lighters, silver, and keeps flipping the lid

open with his thumb and clicking it shut, but he doesn't light a cigarette.

There's a tobacco tin in his shirt pocket, I can see, but he doesn't go near that.

She's speaking very fast, though the words don't carry, bent forward with her

arms going. Pleading with him, I reckon, or arguing something. Not having

much effect as far as I can see, his whole body and his face are kind of leant

back away from her, as if his own stick were leant against a wall. I can't really

make out his face properly from here, but it's like he's sneering – he really

doesn't think much of her.

Which is odd, because I've seen them come down that path before, so

pressed together there were no gaps between them, their legs working like in

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a three-legged race, only faster than they meant to, going downhill. When I

saw, my insides gave a great fierce jump right down to my knees, and I

thought, I want that. I want that.

Her voice is going up and down. It must be great to have proper grown-

up arguments like that, real passionate ones about real subjects, about love.

Of course you have to have a real boyfriend first. I haven't yet, but when I do .

. . . There's Gareth of course - in fact I ought to be getting back in case he

comes round. They've made a serial of Sons and Lovers – it's one of our

set books – and he bikes over from Gosford to watch it at my house, then

we discuss it. It's good of him to come all that way, nigh on ten miles I reckon.

My family tease me and call him my boyfriend, but they don't understand

anything. People think just because we go about together all the time we must

be going out. It's so simplistic.

I mean, he is pretty keen on me. He declared himself, as they say in

books, a few months back. Of course I already knew. It was ever so

embarrassing, but I had to say I'd no feelings for him in that way, though I'd

gladly remain friends. I think our friendship's really important, I said, and I truly

value it. It ought to be possible for men and women to be close and

understanding, without anything else. We have so much in common, and we

talk about books so fruitfully and so well. It's an intellectual thing really, a

disinterested affection. I'm sure it's very rare, I told him, and we must take

care not to spoil it. He accepted that, though I know he'd still like more. It's

nice to be wanted, and I felt really bad doing it – but when it's love you just

know. I will, any case. From what I know about love, it doesn't creep up on

you slowly. I don't mean it has to be at first sight or anything, but you just

know.

Afterwards I lay on my bed all dreamy, gazing at my posters, not

seeing them, just having the feeling that came from what had happened, and

thinking this is a feeling to have. Naturally part of it was quite uncomfortable

– I could see I'd really knocked him – but what else could I say? Yet part

of me was full of a strange happiness. I could see the future all glittery and

vague sort of floating in the room before me. There are so many feelings I

haven't had yet.

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Of course he's quite sweet. He'll do anything for me, and he has a sort

of beady, blackbirdy look sometimes. He reads that late he's got these brown

shadows under his eyes like little bruises. Ever so sweet – but just not

boyfriend material somehow, there's no way round it. He's not tall enough, for

a start. I mean I know I'm too old for all that girls magazine rubbish, where

boyfriends are to be met with at ice-rinks and funfairs, labelled dishy and

kissed thinking mmmmmm in a bubble. I saw through all that a long time ago.

I really should be getting back, though, just in case Gaz calls. One day I'll

meet a boy who really sees, sees all of me, and we'll fall in love and stay

together always. Perhaps at college it’ll happen. He’ll be one I can really

respect, who knows how to look through me right to the bottom and loves me

completely.

He's pulled away from her, but she's stalled him again, hand on his

arm, speaking urgently. He's got his stick between his two hands, butting it at

her sideways like he’s a lion-tamer with a folded whip. Now he's tugged

himself free and he's away in an arc breaking out from the edge of the field.

The corn tramples easily, so you can see the swathe where he's gone. She

follows, keeps to the edge, then wades out. His head turns on his body above

the corn. He says something to her, one more thing. And she stops.

You can see the knuckles of his two fingers above the black leather

shoulder, looped through the bag hanging down his back, as he's off up the

ridge through the corn. The same wind lifts the hair at the back of his neck as

ripples the corn.

All of a sudden she goes down, all uneven like several different heavy

objects into the corn. She's crying, I can hear her, over and over the same,

and really loud.

'Come back, please come back.' The air seems to be creaking with

that sound, split by it in many places. It’s like a lark's singing, as if it came

from above the air and rained down in splinters through it. I can almost see

the air grown buzzing and fuzzy, like when you look up for larks too high to

find. And I know she can smell that sour rusty smell of earth, low down among

the stalks denting her knees. I’m sure she smells it like a colour she's mixed

with her tears, and that she breathes it all, her wet face, her own words, the

corn, the sky, from one place, crushed in the brittle stems, below.

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I'm looking where he's gone, gulped into the swell of the land above the

ridge, and the air heaving greyly over the corn. Doesn't she know he's gone?

It's not for him. She must know he can't hear her. It's for herself, for the air,

the prickling stalks of corn, because it’s like those words are this moment's

name.

In the space above where she is I keep seeing her break up again into

disjointed squares oddly arranged on one another the moment before she

falls. Like that Cubist painting Woman Coming Downstairs. I'm starting to take

an interest in modern art, you see. I thought it was time. The girl hasn’t got up

yet. Still, if I had a bust like she’s got, I don't think I could stay sad about

anything for long.

13

Loyalties Wayne Price

Sometimes I think it's the uncanniness of animals draws us to them; the blacked out, unfurnished rooms of their eyes, a liquid indifference to the suffering of others of their kind. And the miraculous weightlessness of cattle and horses; so much heavier-boned than us and no weary heaviness at all of self. I remember, though, our one and only dog, a recovered stray, rescued from a schoolyard where he'd paddled for days, nose-up, in tides of kids, who dislocated both hind legs by hurling himself, howling, at our kitchen door all night. He'd wanted to sleep in sight of us, on the bedroom floor. We couldn't let him, we'd agreed: it would be a slippery slope he'd soon slide down to land in bed between us, and how would we break the habit then? We thought the howling was just frustration

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National Health Lynda Radley

Scene 1

Three young people converse in a teen psychiatric ward.

There are chairs arranged in a circle.

Two young women sit on them: let’s call them A and B.

B has her feet up.

A and B are smoking languidly, but they do not have cigarettes in their hands

and they do not exhale smoke. They have bubble mixture, and when they

exhale they blow bubbles.

Charlie approaches

A: New girl.

B: Hey you! New girl.

C: Yeah. Hi.

Charlie looks around.

C: You allowed? They just passed a law you know.

A: A designated area.

C: Really?

B: They have them in psychiatric hospitals, prisons and hospices.

For the mad, the bad and the dying.

A: Do you partake?

C: Em… no.

A: Yeah, you’re right. It’s a filthy habit.

B: Bet you will by the time you get out of here though.

A: Everybody does.

Charlie sits. B exhales pointedly in her direction. Charlie wafts the bubbles

away.

B: What are you in for?

C: In for?

A: Yeah, what’s wrong with you?

C: Well…

A: You may as well tell us.

B: No secrets here.

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A: You’ll be spilling your guts in group tomorrow anyway.

They make you do an introduction on the first day.

B: And goals, goals for the week.

‘I will stop drinking eight glasses of water before I get weighed.’

A: ‘Until I can maintain healthy boundaries I will not phone my mother.’

B: ‘I will stop doing press ups in my room after lights out.’

A: ‘I will learn to love myself more.’

A and B laugh

B: So no secrets here.

Only yesterday I was cataloguing my personal despair.

A: She thought there were calories in the Subway smell -you know the baking

smell?- so she walked miles out of her way to avoid it.

B: Em, excuse me. What’s said in the circle stays in the circle, yeah?

A: It was pretty funny though.

Beat

A: So tell us.

C: What?

A: You know what.

C: Anxiety.

B: Anxiety? Anxiety?

Don’t give me that. Everybody is anxious. I’m anxious. She’s anxious. The

doctors are anxious. Some of the nurses don’t know where to put

themselves. And the man who works in the hospital shop shakes like a leaf.

A: I think he’s a long stay patient actually.

B: Figures... Anyway, that’s not the point.

A: The point is you need to be more specific.

C: Anxiety attacks. An anxiety disorder.

A: Sweaty palms, heart racing, feeling like you’re going to die.

Charlie nods.

And what else?

C: That’s it.

A: That’s nothing. They don’t put you in here for that. C’mon.

C: I puke.

B: How?

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C: For days, I can’t stop.

B: So bulimic?

C: No. No, I don’t make myself do it. It just… happens.

And anyway I don’t have a problem with food. I’m a feminist.

Beat

A: Right, yeah.

Beat

B: You sure that’s a real thing? The puking thing? ‘Cos I never heard of that

before.

And I’ve seen a lot come and go.

C: I don’t know if it’s a thing. I think it’s just me.

A: Well, I win.

B takes some of her bubble mixture and pours it into A’s bottle.

B: I was sure you were bulimic. You’re almost thin enough. She said you

weren’t.

A: Bulimics have skinned knuckles, Stupid.

B: Never heard of vomiting being something they could put you in here for.

Sure you not delusional?

I mean you could be a compulsive liar for all we know.

A: Leave her alone.

Beat

A: What’s your name?

C: Charlie.

B: That’s a boy’s name.

C: Charlotte really.

B: Charlotte. Ew. Posh. Are you posh?

D’you go to private school?

C: No.

Beat

C: I don’t really go to any school.

I haven’t been to school in almost a year.

A: Nothing special about that in here.

All our brains are rotting.

B: Mine’s actually eating itself for the calories.

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A bitch nurse said that once.

Beat

C: …Guess that makes you an air head.

A: An air head. That’s good. You made a joke.

B: Charlie made a joke. Good for you Charlie.

A: Charlie understands how to fit in and adapt in social situations.

B: That’s a really positive tool for a positive life.

A: You’re going to be just fine.

Beat

B: Bet you don’t though. In real life. Fit in. Like you’re the type who can’t even

have a normal thing wrong with you.

C: In real life? Isn’t this real life?

A: Oh no.

Beat

C: What are you in here for? Am I allowed to ask? (to B) Are you anorexic?

B: I don’t like labels actually.

C: Oh.

B: But yeah. I am.

C: What about you?

A: I’m anorexic too. Can’t you tell?

C: Oh I…

A: Are you saying I look fat? I’ve put on weight, haven’t I? She looks skinnier

than me, doesn’t she?

C: I’m sorry I…

B: You’re pretty gullible.

A: Yeah, just kidding. I tried to kill myself.

C: Oh.

A: So depression I suppose.

Fairly normal. Not like you.

18

Peace Brothers, Peace (extract from a novel in progress) Allan Wilson

For lunch they went to the Black Bull Hotel and pub. There was a statue of

one at the side of the room and Danny’s Dad got his phone and took a photo

of Danny beside it. Barry the Bull they called it. I could fight Barry the Bull.

Danny The Bull Walker. His Dad sat him on the bull’s back. For food they both

got fish and chips. Uncle Tony was watching the camp and their stuff. They

were to bring him something in. When they left he said he was going to have

a bath in the loch.

In the pub Danny’s Dad passed Danny the phone and when he said

hello his Mum was there. She said she was missing her two boys. Was his

Dad looking after him? Were they two looking after Uncle Tony? Had he

caught any fish yet?

Nobody has.

You all must be terrible fishermen then!

No the fish are just hiding until we’ve gone.

You’re a fibber! Are you missing me yet?

Not yet.

Not yet? I’m missing you. Is your Dad missing me?

I think so. He’s smiling cos he can hear you.

Danny handed his Dad the phone.

Say bye first, his Dad said.

Bye first.

Be good.

I’m always good.

His Dad took the phone and walked over towards the toilets. Danny

went back over to the bull. It was made of metal except it was black and when

you knocked it with your knuckles it was empty inside. Danny put his face

against the bull’s face. What you saying Barry, eh? The mouth was open and

he put his ear against it. It sounded like wind. When you knocked on the bull’s

side it sounded like bells. He turned and looked into the mouth. It was dark

but his eyes adjusted. There were beer mats under the bull’s feet. You been

drinking Barry Bull? Having a swally with the other bulls Barry Bull? Someone

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had put a crayon through and it was lying between the bull’s legs. Danny

reached inside to get it. He couldn’t reach. He went down to the ground and

tried to reach underneath. He could not reach and the metal was sore on his

arm. It left a red mark and a scratch.. He rubbed at it then looked in the gap

under the bull. A man stepped over his body where he was lying.

Trying to trip an old man up are you? He smiled down.

Danny looked back and shook his head. The man laughed and went

away. Danny felt about under the bull. He looked in for the crayon. His hand

touched the bull’s foot and there was something stuck in between. He pulled it

out and his arm grazed along the bottom of the metal. It was money. He

looked at it then looked about. His Dad was facing the other way. The money

was dirty and there was a rip. He put it in his pocket. Danny went back over to

their seat. He sat looking down at the rest of the chips and could not eat them.

His Dad had left the green beans but his chips were finished and there was

tomato sauce left. Danny began to scrape the veg to the side and then put his

chips at the side of his Dad’s plate. He put the plates in a pile and then the

knifes and forks on top. He wiped the table with the napkin and put it on top.

His dad was on the phone and he shrugged when he talked. He looked up

when Danny was looking. He made shapes with his hand to say his Mum

would not stop talking. Yap yap yap.

Danny waited with his hand on the note in his pocket. It felt waxy. It

was his. His Dad went off the phone and came over. Eating into our fishing

time, int she? He looked at the plates. You?

Uh hu.

Were you finished?

Yeah.

Did you not like it?

The chips were too cold a bit and too burnt.

The fish was nice though eh?

Danny nodded.

What will we get Tony? His Dad said.

I think chips.

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He started missing his Mum. Tony said that when him and his Dad were away

gallivanting that a fish had bit on then let go after a fight. It was the lines, there

was something wrong with the lines and they should have got better stuff.

When you two were away gallivanting. Shut up man, his Dad said. Best of

gear.

We’re better fishermen than you, Danny said.

Let’s see who catches more then, right? You wanting in on the bet as

well wee man?

Danny nodded.

Right it is. Hope you’ve got a spare fifty in your piggy bank.

They gave Tony his chips. They were cold. He ate some of them and

then threw them into the water and they floated on the surface for a while

before they sunk. His Dad’s phone had photos of his Mum and Danny went to

the tent. She was on the screensaver. He did not know the code for his Dad’s

phone but he could see his Mum behind the boxes for the code. Why did he

miss her? It was stupid but he did. It was stupid. Gayboy. Danny is a gay

fisherman. No he wasn’t. He put the phone down and lay back. If they caught

a fish it would be better fun. There was nothing else to do. If he had brought

one of his friends then it would have been better. Or if he had a wee brother

as well cos then if you fell out it was okay. You still loved each other because

you were brothers. He put the phone back then got the pack of cards and

went out. Uncle Tony was putting the tinnies into the bag that was half in the

water. His Dad was sitting on the chair with a book. Danny sat in the chair

beside him. Then Uncle Tony came.

I’m hungry still, are you?

Danny said nothing and his Dad shook his head.

How many more barbeques have we got?

Check.

Tony took the keys and went to the car. He went in the boot. He closed

it and shouted across.

We don’t have enough stuff. I’m away to get supplies.

His Dad closed the book and kept the page with his finger. Wait the

now Tony.

It’s cool man, I won’t be long.

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Naw wait and we’ll all go. Give us a minute to sit down but.

I’m insured to drive any car.

His Dad stood up and looked across. I’ll drive man.

Mate, relax!

Uncle Tony went in the front door. He turned the ignition on then the

wipers began to flap but it wasn’t raining.

It isny funny man.

The car reversed and his dad ran across but stopped before the car.

Don’t be a fanny Tony.

The car turned and reversed in the dirt and clouds of dust came up.

Tony rolled the window down and shouted something but it was too far away

and Danny couldn’t hear. His Dad said something. He used his angry voice.

The car stopped moving. His Dad leant in the window of the car then the

engine went off. His Dad came back and he was holding the keys. He threw

them to Danny. Away and hide these but don’t forget where you hid them.

Uncle Tony was coming. Danny walked into the woods and stood watching

from behind a tree. The dust had gone most of it. The car was at a bad angle

and the window was down. Uncle Tony stood in front of the seat his Dad was

on. He did not say anything but looked. Danny’s Dad would win in a fight. Any

day he would win and smash Uncle Tony boof.

Whit? Said Danny’s Dad. Whit? Just cos you’re being a dobber?

Uncle Tony did not answer. He went over to the rods. When he was

there he looked back at Danny’s Dad. Do you know what man? He said.

What?

You’re fuckin boring these days.

How am I?

Cos you are.

Fuck up man.

Danny turned and went further into the woods. He passed the tree

where he did his pisses. Further on there was a hole with some pieces of

toilet paper flapping about beside it. He went deeper into the trees. The water

was to his right. He had to watch for tree roots. There were wee hills and dirt

and then soon he came to rocks. When he came out of the woods the water

was right in front of him. It went round in a curve. There was a gap and then

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more rocks and right round was another beach. In the distance there were two

boats but nobody was on them he could see. Danny climbed down towards

the water. He held on to a sticky out bit of one of the rocks then put his foot in

the water. It soaked through his shoe. There was a shallow pool to his right. It

was not connected to the water but the water must have washed in and got

stuck there amongst the rocks. There were wee fishes swimming about in it.

Baggy minnows. Danny leant across and put his hand in. The fish scattered

and they tickled. The rocks would not move. He put the keys in and climbed

back up.

They were playing cards when he got back. His Dad winked then

touched his nose and looked at Uncle Tony. He watched them play then a

hand was dealt for him. Uncle Tony was not speaking. They played switch.

Danny was good at it. When they played Switch at home his Mum said it was

his game. Two pick up two, two twos pick up four. Seven miss a go, Jack

back, Red King pick up five. Keep your Kings and play them at the right time.

Play a seven then play the whole suit. Ace is any suit. Keep four aces and

then go out on all four. Member and shout last card. Uncle Tony was to his

left. Red King pick up five. Haha. Uncle Tony did not laugh. This game’s a fix,

he said. It isny that you’re shite Tony Boy it’s just that the wee man is good!

Uncle Tony went to his tent and when he came back he was smoking.

He tried to get Danny’s Dad to smoke it but he said no. They played more

cards. They played rummy. Uncle Tony won the first game and smiled. It was

Danny’s turn to deal and he was shuffling the cards. His Dad went across and

checked the rods. Tony finished the cigarette and looked at Danny.

Would love to be your age again man. What’s it like being your age?

Danny began to deal the cards.

See the next few years wee man, oooft!

What?

Just Just oooft!

What does oooft mean?

Don’t want to ruin the surprise!

Danny tried not to smile.

Big giant ooooof! Uncle Tony said. Aye, you know what I’m saying.

Look at ye!

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Danny let out a laugh and then his Dad came back.

What’s so funny?

Wee secret between me and Danny, right Danny boy?

Danny was smiling when he looked at his Dad.

Oooof! Uncle Tony said.

Danny was laughing still when he was dealing the cards. His Dad did

not know why. Uncle Tony got up and went to his tent. When he came back

he had another cigarette and was only pretending to smoke it because it was

not lit yet.

Another one already? Said Danny’s Dad.

Chill brother Walker. Relax man. All groovy here brother Walker! Uncle

Tony started to do a dance where he waved his arms slow like a octopus.

Danny’s Dad looked at Danny and looped his finger at the side of his head.

Not crazy brother Walker. Enlightened. Nature man, the fish. The fish,

the fish! Peace loving creatures need to embrace the familiarity of all species

under one banner, brother Walker. Young blood knows what i’m saying, don’t

you wee man? Wee dude.

Uncle Tony was putting on a silly voice. He was like an American man.

Peace brothers, peace! He said.

Nice to see your Uncle happier, int it? Danny’s Dad said.

I’m happy, you’re happy, the fish in the sea are happy! Sometimes you

hit a downer but. Brother of the fish man, that’s me. Antony Shields, friend of

man and beast alike. Saviour of humanity. A profit, a seer, a man whose eyes

see the ills of the world and he points them out to man and beast alike.

Sacrifices his own life to make the world a better place for other people!

Uncle Tony sparked the cigarette and blew the smoke out. The puff

pipe belongs to us all brother Walker. Take some man, take some for peace.

Danny’s Dad looked down at him and shook his head.

Young blood is a lover of peace as well, sure you are wee man? Uncle

Tony said.

Danny nodded.

Do you love peace aye? His Dad said.

Peace, Danny said. I like the pipe of peace.

Give us peace, his Dad said.

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Danny grinned and hit his Dad’s arm.

The Peace Pipe is for all the peace loving brothers, Uncle Tony said.

Don’t even blow it on him Anton. I mean it.

Peace baby, peace!

Uncle Tony faced the water and blew out the smoke.

Don’t tell your Mum about Tony’s peace pipe, wee man.

Why?

Cos then there’ll be war.

Ten pounds, Danny said.

Eh?

Tenner or I will tell her.

Young blood playing hard ball! Uncle Tony said. Well played wee man.

Ten quid?

Danny was grinning. His Dad went into his pocket then checked the

other one and pulled out a crumpled ten pound. He handed it to Danny. See

when I’m an old man you better look after me.

Danny nodded and pocketed the money.

A puff of the pipe for peace brother Walker?

Danny watched his Dad take the cigarette and suck it in. He closed his

eyes and took a big deep breath then kept it inside him for a long time. He

blew it back out and the wind blew it away to the water.

Peace, love and understanding Danny boy, Uncle Tony said.

His Dad took another shot of it. Dynamite stuff mate. From Clarky aye?

We all love Brother Clarke. The peace keeper himself.

I’ll be fucked for driving man.

Uncle Tony shook his head. Relax brother, good country people out

here. The roads are freedom. Out here there are no laws.

His Dad took another suck then passed it back to Uncle Tony.

See man, this is the Jojo I know and love!

Uncle Tony inhaled it quick then the cigarette was nearly done. He held

it out for Danny to take then pulled it back and started to laugh. He passed the

last bit to Danny’s Dad instead. Danny’s Dad took the cigarette back from

Tony. He sucked it in then threw the end on the burnt out fire.

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That cost me a tenner Tony Boy. I think that means you should roll us

another.

Peace to all the brothers. Uncle Tony said.

His eyes were closed and he was facing the sun.

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A Reader Callie Addison, St Machar Academy

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Aged Linsey Duffin, Dyce Academy

For a tale as old as time, and a song as old as rhyme Beauty and the Beast will fit the bill. Or maybe catch the shower, Pouring down on London Tower And then take a stroll round Notting Hill. But if you like disagreeing Say none do better at orienteering Than that which those who live in Tibet could. However Robin Hood and his Merry Men Did not steal from the Rich to spend On a GPS for in the forest of Sherwood. But if you want an old time winner Whose chest hair only gets thinner Then surely ageless Simon Cowell would.

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Facade Ashleigh Grant, St Machar Academy

Poor little boy Living under false pretences. A smile filled with synthetic joy. When will you come to your senses? It is not weak to admit defeat. We all need help sometimes. Strength is not immortal. You believe you're invincible but having all the muscle in the world cannot disguise the fact that inside you’re a coward who is petrified of people even more so than your own reflection. The truth presents itself clear, As you gaze into the mirror. You want to hide, you're filled with anguish that you cannot express in language So you lie back on your bed your mind consumed with fear and dread. People cannot be trusted. Faith is a machine now old and rusted. Ignoring the voices won’t expel them. Pretending your vision does not see the horrid figures of misery that put you in danger and control your mind like a puppet on a string. Take back some control. Feeling immobilized, unable to move on. Trying to suppress emotions benefits no-one. Your mind rewinds on everything that went wrong. Convincing yourself you don’t need help Not wanting to let anyone in. Running away from your problems That’s how it always been. Wrap yourself in a cocoon that way the monsters can't get to you with their white coats and stethoscopes issuing your impending doom they hypnotize and tranquilize till disorientated and weary-eyed Your thoughts are not true.

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Untitled Amy McBain, Cults Academy

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Mrs Baker from next door said to me in a quiet voice, while holding and patting my hand for a moment too long before releasing me. I smiled weakly in reply; what else could I do? I turned to walk away, through the sea of people in our front room who had come to say goodbye to Jessica. I walked through to the kitchen at the back of the house. Everyone who was in there looked at me, smiled sympathetically, and then left our sickly magnolia kitchen. I just wanted to be left alone. I closed the door gently behind me. The orange juice I held in my hand was not satisfying my grief, and I no longer held any desire to continue drinking it. I could already feel the darkness taking over, slowly creeping into my mind and taking over my thoughts. I pulled the kitchen chair out to sit down, which squeaked loudly and horribly against the tiled floor. A bottle of, what appeared to be whiskey, sat half empty on the table before me, taunting me. My hand twitched around the glass of dissatisfying orange juice. Don’t do it, I told myself calmly. Five years sober, now was not the time to break that. I couldn’t let her down now… But surely one little sip wouldn’t hurt? Just to take the edge off… I wouldn’t let myself fall off the wagon again, not after all my hard work. I pushed the soft drink away from me, almost in disgust, and picked up the unknown alcohol. I twisted the lid off slowly. Just one tiny sip… I was about to take a drink when I suddenly put the bottle back on the table, with some force, which caused the fruit in the fruit bowl to tremble. I couldn’t. How could I? How could I start drinking again? I gave it all up for her. I heard the kitchen door open ever so slightly. “Go away… Please…” After a moment the door quietly closed. Was it too much to just be left alone? Did they not understand that that’s all I wanted? I had just lost the love of my life, and they just didn’t understand the concept of being left alone, in peace? I could hear their muffled voices, talking. Speculating. Why are they already gossiping? I thought to myself as I reached for the bottle again, and finally took the plunge. The drink, which was still unknown to me, was extremely sweet with a fiery after taste. It was a hideous tasting drink, which was far too harsh on the palette… But it already seemed to be helping to numb the grief and pain. She had just died so suddenly. She just collapsed in the front room… Yes, yes, that’s what had happened… “Why did you have to go and leave me?” I asked in a quiet voice, out loud to the empty kitchen. I took another swig. “Why did you have to do that?” I need her. I want her back beside me. I thought to myself while I finally let the tears flow. I couldn’t keep them back any longer. Things like this just shouldn’t happen to good people. She was a good person… I was a good person, it shouldn’t have happened to her. I kept replaying the events over in my mind. It was almost as if my subconscious was tormenting me, showing me things that had happened years ago and I had wished to forget. I didn’t want to remember them. I had repressed them for a reason. Suddenly, half of the bottle of the sickly drink had vanished, without me even noticing. I had drunk half a large bottle in the space of god knows how

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long, but it wasn’t over a long period of time, that’s for sure. I didn’t want to go back to counselling, or to go back to that psychiatrist. They told me the same thing, and I don’t think I could face hearing it over and over again to try and get me off the drink. I took another couple of large sips. “It wasn’t my fault,” I said out loud now, as if speaking to an invisible audience. “I didn’t do it… I didn’t do anything. But everyone will jump to… jump to the wrong conclusion. They can’t do that, they don’t know…” it was as if I was pleading with an invisible jury now. I just wanted to clear my conscience, to be free from all the memories that were now plaguing my thoughts every minute of every day. Just to go about my day to day life without this insane guilt hanging over my like a cloud that persists on following me everywhere. “I can’t live the rest of my life like this!” I shouted, mainly to myself. A timid knock on the door sounded. “Dear, is everything alright?” Mrs Baker’s concerned voice was quiet and unsure sounding. She had obviously been sent to check by the others that I was alright, because no one else would. “I’m fine Mrs Baker,” I tried my best too sound calm and not slightly intoxicated. “Just leave me alone for a bit, I’m fine” I repeated, trying to reassure her that I really was fine, and that all I needed was an hour or so to myself. But I knew I’d need longer. Just as I finally had peace, and could be left alone with my thoughts, there was a knock on the front door. I sighed as I sat down again and took another drink. Who could that be? I didn’t want to have to make simple small talk with another person. “Can we speak with Mr Jones for a moment?” a low, male voice sounded in the living room. “Of course officer,” Mrs Baker started, as I heard her walk through to the kitchen door. “He’s just through in the kitchen.” I started to panic. Why do they want to talk to me? Why were they here? Why today? I didn’t… it wasn’t my fault this time. If she just hadn’t… if she didn’t… it wasn’t my fault that she got on my nerves and I lost my temper a bit… none of this is my fault, none of it. A knock sounded on the kitchen door, more confident than that of Mrs Baker’s knocking. “yes?” I asked, wary not to say anything, or act in any way, that would cause suspicion. Two rather burly looking police officers entered my kitchen, one after the other. “We’re sorry to trouble you at such a difficult time Mr Jones,” the first one started, never breaking eye contact with me. “But if you would just like to cooperate with us and answer a few questions we have about your wife’s death.” “I’ve already given a statement.” I replied and instantly regretted the way that I had said it. That was too quick an answer, they’ll know something’s up. “Sir, it’s just some questions-“ “But I have already answered questions relating to my wife’s death, I have told you everything.” My voice was growing ever louder, I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying anymore. The police officer seemed to have had enough. “Sir, we have reason to believe from other statements that you are somehow connected to the death

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of your wife. If you would just like to come with us to the station and answer these questions, you will be ruled out of the investigation depending on the evidence you give.” I sighed. I wouldn’t win. I’ll end up back in counselling, or rehab, or possibly prison. “I’ll come and answer the questions.” I answered quietly while walking out of the kitchen and down the hall to the police car. Why did I do it? I didn’t mean too… I honestly didn’t mean to.

32

Preservation Beth Nicoll, St Machar Academy

They all think that my job is odd. “A woman in that kind of business, sitting looking at eyes and hair all day”. They don’t see the precision that goes into my area of expertise, matching the exact colour with the original, preserving every last detail the way that they would have wanted it. The Greek used to call what I do an arrangement of skin, but I don’t like that term. It’s more than that, it is a fine art, you need a steady hand. People keep these types of things for years, hang the head of that first deer that they killed as a young girl on the wall, pride of place, above the fireplace. You can’t have the wrong shade of eyes, dodgy stitching or gashes in the neck. No, no, no, that is not how I do it. I take my work very seriously. My favourite one that I have ever done was not too long ago, maybe a couple of months or so. She was a beauty. Brown eyes that sparkled like you wouldn’t believe, trying to find a match for that sure was a challenge. She had the most beautiful golden coat, and so soft. I took my time with that one. It was special, one of a kind, and the way that I came about her was magical. It was as if she just fell right into my lap, no struggle, nice and simple to get my hands on. I was on the phone to my sister the other day, I could tell that something was wrong, we are twins you see. It had been a long time since we had spoken, I think it was about the time of our 26th birthday. She was telling me that her roommate was causing her a bit of bother, this, I told her, is the reason that I live alone. You have all this space, I got the most beautiful cottage, secluded, spacious, close enough to shops that I can get what I require, but far enough out that I don’t get bothered when I’m working. She told me she doesn’t know how I do it. All alone out here. She needs the city, and Emily, her roommate, is just an issue she has to deal with. I told her I’d deal with her, I would have a little chat with, and I kept to my word. Katy is not getting any hassle anymore. That is the kind of sister I am, although we don’t speak often, when she needs me I can help her. Whether it is dealing with an annoying roommate or telling an ex-boyfriend to get stuffed, I am there. I pulled up to the house today after my daily hunt and there were car tracks, looked like a Jeep. They were inside, I don’t know who but I can’t risk it. They will get them involved, because they don’t understand, nobody does. I can’t stay here, but I can’t go. My life is here, my work is here. My biggest triumph, he’s here, too. Breath…I swear I looked like a cartoon, steam was coming out of my ears, the vein in the centre of my forehead was beginning to grow its own head. My life’s work. Gone. How do you rebuild yourself, how do you get back on your feet? I decided the best thing was to move. Start a fresh. Get some new meat. New inspiration. And that is just what I did. I found the most magical place. Just outside of the city, but on the west side instead of the east. It is pretty similar to my last home, it is secluded and quiet,

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but there is so much more space in this cottage. The basement goes on for miles. It is just what I need. As soon as I was properly moved in I began hunting for more work. I didn’t plan my find, he was gorgeous, a gazelle bounding through the forests. It was too easy, he walked into my arms. The key to the perfect catch is to stay calm and gain trust, if you have trust with them then they will follow you back. After one of the simplest catches of my life I got straight into my work, I was back in my element, the perfects cuts so no pain was felt, some of the best incisions I have done in a long time. This time felt special, it felt different. He was my big three-oh, it is magical when you reach a landmark like that. It was like the first time I ever worked on one before, there was a tingling in my fingers as I watched the life disappear from their eyes. Butterflies entered my stomach did a loop and left just as they had come. His sky blue eyes glistened as the light hit off them and I watch as his body tensed, everything tightening. The final stitch was sewn and I tidied away my appliances, put him in the upright, standard position and then went back up stairs for a cup of coffee, it calms me down after my work, although they say the caffeine keeps you up I feel that when you’re on a high that big, you can’t get any higher. I sat on the sofa, my pillows now perfectly aligned, and turned on the television. Daytime T.V, not my cuppa tea. Re-runs of Friends, the world’s most dysfunctional families on Jeremy Kyle, the Days of Our Lives omnibus, just in case you feel the need to relive hell twice. I flicked over just in time for the last of CNN news, it had landed on the, “Now from where you are,” section, and that was when I saw her. Tears streaming down her face, screaming, “It wasn’t me!” at the top of her lungs. The picture of a broken woman. I could not believe she had done that, that she was capable of such horrible things. My sister. Arrested for the murder of twenty-nine people, including her roommate.

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Secrets in a Name Kirsty Wright, Kincorth Academy

I woke slowly. My body felt heavy, weighted by some invisible force pushing down on my chest; my mind was slow, trying to click into place, but it hadn’t achieved that in months. Looking around with tired eyes, I found myself to be in a small room painted a pale grey. Across from me a dark timber wood table stood alone, a small stack of papers positioned upon it. I tried to raise an arm, only to find it trapped, strapped down to a polished mahogany chair arm by a thick, black leather belt. My other limbs were restricted in the same way, my torso pushing against its own strap as I suddenly felt short for air in my constricted state. Gasping manically I tried to haul oxygen down into my body as I heaved forward and backward; panic ridden and sore I struggled to no avail for freedom. I hauled for hours before giving up, pushing back and forth against the hard back of my chair, but I couldn’t even summon enough strength to topple myself onto my side. Finally I conceded defeat, slumping back into the chair, hunched like a half filled sack of flour. My body ached all over, and a throbbing pain had begun to travel up and down my spine. I shut my eyes for a moment, groaning as my head spun. I never thought I would want to be back in the sleazy motel room I had rented out, but now I found myself lusting after its peculiar smell of stagnant water and craving the site of damp patches slathering murky walls. It was at that point, the point I reached utter hopelessness I mean, that the woman entered. I couldn't help but stare; she had legs that seemed to go on forever with the black heels she wore and her black dress hugged her figure beautifully. And being honest, there wasn't much else in the room to hold the eye. Her face was clear and vibrant and she had red hair that tumbled down her back in cascading waves like the ocean itself had changed colour for her. She had porcelain pale skin, but her eyes- although a beautiful blue colour- were cold and calculating, and her red lipstick smile was twisted in a menacing way. She perched herself on the desk in front of me, crossing her ankles, focusing those cold blue eyes on me with a tilting of her head. We both sat inspecting each other for a long time while my chest heaved, both looking into the others eyes without so much as a flinch, until finally she spoke with a voice as smooth and sharp as ice. “Mr Blaker...” She said as if to herself, tutting as she shook her head back and forth with that cruel smile. “My, my sir, you were a hard one to find.” “Excuse me?” I panted, feeling sweat start to drip from my forehead and down the nape of my neck. At my reaction the woman threw her head back and laughed viciously, her hair tumbling around her like unruly flames. Jumping from her position on the table she strode up to me, putting her free hands over my restricted arms and leaning forward so that I could feel warm breath stroke my cheeks, searching my eyes before pulling away, laughing again. “How they make you forget!” She squealed, clasping her hands together in apparent joy. “Oh, how they twist your mind and warp it to what they want. How they

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control and manipulate the human brain, oh, it is truly fascinating.” She almost hissed in excitement. I felt my heart rate rise in fear, but before I could get a word in she was smiling that cruel smile and speaking again. “And then they erase it all and land you in some grotty motel in South Virginia to die of your own insanity. You can feel it, cant you? Slowly. Ever so slowly you are losing your mind.” I looked away from her, knowing she spoke the truth, but not wanting to acknowledge, to accept. “Can you feel it Mr Blaker?” She asked, walking towards me slowly, looking at me with fascination, “Can you feel all those chemicals inside you, gnawing away at the edge of your brain, chewing through those synapses?” I sat in silence, listening to my heart thud inside my chest, waiting for it to shatter my ribs as fear consumed me. Suddenly she produced a tattered news paper article and flung it onto my lap. ‘Family of Four Slaughtered’ the headline proclaimed- published in large bold letters. Pictures alongside it showed faces I had never seen, but could so easily recall- faces of no particular merit to me, they didn’t start a fire in my heart or a churning in my stomach. I regarded them as you would regard the postman, people who meant nothing to me, but never the less knew their face’s- a smiling mother who I had never met, yet saw in my head and a father I could not place in my memory bank of names, but even still knew him. The woman flung another paper at me with a similar headline to the one before it, but different faces which again looked familiar. She threw yet another paper into my lap, and another, each one reporting a similar story with a different family, “And oh boy, have we got one hell of a job for you.” The women smiled down at me with an evil glint in her eyes and steely determination radiating from her, “So, Mr Blaker, what do you say, do you want to know your real name?”