You might think that being attacked by a vengeful witch sending curses at you would be stressful. Me? I love it. I step back into a calm stance, my sword extended before me. The witch snarls at me with long, yellowed teeth, before launching back into her unrelenting attack. I parry and dodge and lunge and stab and slice, breaking down the witches defence one swoosh of my sword at a time. I stay focused on the fight, never letting my thoughts wander. I focus on my breathing, and the air around me. Fighting is second nature for me, as a trained knight of the royal guard. The witch clearly is not. She swings her talons clumsily and her moth-eaten cloak snags on the shrubs around us in the forest clearing. The only thing keeping the blasted beast alive is her erratic explosions of magic, black and green swirls of death. If I can dodge her spells, I have nothing in my way to end the fight. I plant my feet on the mossy ground, ready to deliver the final blow. I twist to the side, raising my blade in the air, when I see a black and green blade- the witch’s last hope to survive- whirling towards me. I try and duck but it is too fast, and it seems that I am moving through treacle. I curse at my stupidity. ‘The stupid witch has time magic. Of course she does.’ While I am moving through slow motion, the witch can go at whatever speed she wants. Her magical blade soars right past my sword and- Pain. And darkness. I can’t see anything but all I can feel is pain. I drop to the ground in agony, but I can’t even see my own body. The witches scratchy voice meets my ears. “How you meant to fight if I’ve cut out your eyes, pretty?” I hear her laugh. “You can’t! Give up!” My eyes are gone, but the rest of me is still in perfect working order. I inhale deeply, smelling the scents of the forest. I can hear birds chirping and trees creaking around me. I feel the moss I’m kneeling on, and taste the blood trickling into my mouth. I smile. It’s not over just yet. “Thanks, actually,” I say to her. “Now I can fight you without having to see your disgusting face!” The witch roars in anger and throws herself at me with renewed anger. I feel every whoosh of air and hear every footstep, and I duck and dodge accordingly. I even manage to begin attacking again, shredding her cloak and skin into ribbons. I jump to the side and twist my sword into her shins, bringing to her knees before me. I hear her pant, weak and tired while I stand above her, blind, bleeding and victorious.

“I think I just met the happiest person in the world!” Clara, my little sister, shoves open my door and runs into my room. She leaps onto my bed, excitement bursting from her every pore. The biggest grin humanly possible is on her face. “Really? Because I’m pretty sure that person is you right now,” I reply. She flops backwards, arms outstretched. She shakes her head, still grinning. “No way! Ryan is the most awesome guy ever! He is so enthusiastic about everything!” Clara sighs. “I think I love him a little bit.” I smile at my younger sister’s antics. I remember the feeling of year five crushes, even now, 18 and working. “Aww, Clara, that’s cute-“ “It’s not cute, it’s beautifully romantic!” She interjects, flourishing her hands. I giggle. “So, what’s he like?” I ask. Clara sighs deeply. “Well, he is tall, wavy brown hair, green eyes. He has these cute glasses, and the most beautiful-est smile in the world!” “Is that so?” “He loves sports, like me! And he is super nice, and-“ I listen to my sister ramble about Ryan, feeling happy for her. “And he told me my hair looked nice! How sweet is that?” “Pretty sweet!” Then a worrying thought hit me. I remembered Clara coming home with stories of awesome friends and really cool teachers, but that was all they were. She had made them all up. I guessed she must be pretty lonely at school. “Clara?” “Yeah?” She answers chirpily. “Remember Molly? And Leah?” I ask, listing the names of her imaginary companions. “Uh huh.” “Clara, is Ryan real?” She stood there quietly for a moment, before saying confidently “yes!” I shake my head. “Clara, I don’t believe you. You know what mum says! Don’t tell lies!” She puts on the puppy dog eyes. “I’m telling the truth! He’s real!” “How do I know you’re not lying?” We broke into a squabble, yelling above each other and arguing defiantly at each other. We are interrupted by the doorbell ringing. I step away from Clara. “I’ll get it,” I say. “But this argument isn’t over.” I walk downstairs and open the door. Standing there, much to my surprise, is a tall, young boy with wavy brown hair, green eyes and cute little round glasses. “Hi, I’m Ryan!” He says. “Is Clara home?”

Never before had I hated my ability so much. When I was six, I fell out of a tree and injured my eyes, blinding me permanently. Somehow, losing my sight enhanced my hearing. I was able to hear every tiny murmur, every footstep of tiny insects. As well as making me hyper-aware of my surroundings, it also made me a god at marco polo. But walking through the imposing doors of high school with my best friend Nate, I wished I could hear just like everyone else. “What a weirdo!” They muttered. “Eugh, look at his creepy eyes!” “He probably has to take ‘special classes’.” I slumped, feeling like a spotlight was shining on me as I walked down. Nate noticed my uncomfortableness. “Callum, are you okay?” He asked. I shook my head. “I don’t like this place.” Nate nudged me compassionately, and I was comforted for a moment. Only a moment. “Jeez, Callum is such a wuss!” Nate muttered from beside me. That hurt, coming from my ‘best friend’. I mumbled something about going to my locker and then dashed away from Nate.

The day didn’t get better from the morning. When my homegroup teacher introduced me to the class, all I heard was nasty comments and rude jokes. In maths, the noise of the students was almost deafening with my attuned hearing. Lunch was horrible, because there was no noise at all. As soon as I walked in, the room went silent. It was even worse than whispers. That was my routine for the next week. I hated high school.

“Don’t be such a wuss, Callum,” I said to myself, sitting alone at lunch. “This is just how it is now.” I heard someone plonk themselves down next to me, and heard a female voice. “Sorry to interrupt your monologue, but I was wondering if I could sit here? I’m new. ” I nodded, surprised anyone WANTED to sit with me. The girl and I sat in silence for a moment, until she started speaking again. “So, these students are pretty rude, don’t you think?” “Yeah,” I replied. “But... were they rude to you? Why?” “Uh huh! On my first day, they were calling me names as I walked down the halls. Not nice!” “Not nice,” I agreed. “But it’s easy to see why I’d get teased-“ I gesture to my unfocused eyes, “but why you?” The girl laughs, and grabs my hand. She leads it to her right elbow, where I feel... nothing. She is missing her forearm. “You couldn’t see it! It was so bizarre to talk to someone who doesn’t just focus on THIS!” She waved her arm about, and I smiled. I raised my juice box to the air, grinning. “To seeing people as people,” I said. “To seeing people as people!” She repeats.

The moon’s in the sky, I’m warm in bed, Thats when I hear the chime in my head, ‘Go check your tik tok, you might have new views!’ I succumb to my mind. What do I have to lose?

‘Just check for new likes!’ I’d got only a few, I scrolled through my feed, I was feeling quite blue. All of these people, drowning in likes, While I sat there sadly, ignored, out of sight.

‘Just a few likes, that’s all that I need!’ None came for hours, my heart began to bleed. One little like, ‘quite simple’ you’d say, But it had never felt further away.

Then the sensible part of my brain took control. ‘Who cares what they think, you’re perfect, and whole!’ I decided I liked this part of my mind. I pushed aside my phone, and peace did I find.

The likes didn’t matter, right now I was jolly, I didn’t need to be a Popular Polly! I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep, Not counting the views. Counting my sheep!

I had never been happier to have a family member pass away. Firstly, I had never met my late Uncle Simon, so I couldn’t grieve for him, and secondly, he was leaving me his mansion! I grinned as I drove to his home, thinking about what an amazing house it must be. Simon was an incredibly successful historian, so of course his house must be impressive. I hoped I was right. I pulled onto Birch Street, referring to the address on the slip of paper in my hand. Number 4, number 5, number 6! I stopped the car and stepped out, in awe. The house was three stories tall, with beautiful marble bricks and golden gilded accents. The yard was pristine, with perfect lawn and a beautiful fountain spraying crystal water into the air. I tried to wrap my head around the fact that this was mine. I laughed out loud. Jingling the keys in my fingers, I strolled up the path to the elegant front door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. I was expecting the same sort of luxury that I’d seen outside when I stepped through the door. Boy was I wrong. The paint on the walls was a yellowed white, and peeling all over. The walls themselves had deep gouges in them, like slices across skin. The floor was a mess, with shattered glass and pottery strewn about. The expensive looking sofas were torn up and pushed over. It was like I’d walked into a horror movie. I drop my bags. “Well, this is just great.”

I lay in my threadbare four poster bed, eyes wide open and ears attuned to every tiny noise. You see, from entering the mansion, it had gotten even worse. As I had scaled the stairs to the master bedroom, they had seemed to jump up and down, trying to trip me up. The mirrors lining the long hallway had shattered, one by one, as I walked past. The door to my room refused to stay open, and insisted on slamming loudly when I wasn’t expecting it. I wasn’t loving the house so much any more. Just when all the creepy noises had silenced themselves, and I was finally drifting off to sleep, a sharp cracking sound filled me with adrenaline. The wall opposite me started cracking, and the paintings and mirrors shook in their frames. The wall seemed to be moving, the wallpaper scrunching and tearing. With a violent lurch, the wall tore itself in, ripping into a gruesome shape. The plain wall had contorted itself into a grotesque face, with scrunched wallpaper as skin and shattered mirror as eyes. It’s eyes locked on mine, and it’s mouth opened wide. It started screaming. With the scream, the house started crumbing around me. I jumped out of bed and ran for the door, but a the face in the wall wouldn’t allow that. Out of it’s screaming mouth came a sharp tongue of bricks and plaster. I knew I had lost.

I knew a government’s poor assasination job when I saw one. Knife in chest, not even puncturing a vital organ. They brought the victim in to the operating theatre and elevated him up on the surgery bed. They cut and fiddled and eventually the bullet was removed and wound cleaned. The man slowly regained consciousness. “Where am I?” He groaned, confusion written all over his face. “You’re in the Sanctuary,” I told him, pointing to the logo on my shirt. “The government has no place here.” His eyes widened. “The Sanctuary? The rebel base?” I nodded. “They tried to have you killed because of your book, ‘101 lies the government told us’.” He smiled. “What are we waiting for then?” He pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain. “Lets go make them pay.”

Note: I know this is a lot longer than 10 lines but I hope you still like it. I need to work on condensing my writing!

My mother always tells me to slow my lifestyle down, and appreciate the little moments. For a business woman like me, that advice seemed unachievable. This particular day, however, it seemed the universe forced it upon me. And I am glad.

I sprinted along the grimy city terrace, on my way to a conference. ‘Of course my alarm had to malfunction today, of all the days,’ I thought to myself. I was so caught up in grumbling at my alarm clock that I didn’t even notice him until it was too late. “AAAHHHH!!” I shrieked as I toppled to the ground. The man I had tripped over was equally surprised, having had a random lady fall on him. “I am so sorry about that, sir,” I apologised, being polite. “How rude of me.” The man didn’t seem to be too bothered by the inconvenience, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Jason,” he said in a kind voice. I grabbed his hand to shake it when I noticed the orange goop dripping everywhere. It was everywhere, from on our clothes to all across the nearby wall. ‘No kidding,’ the logical part of my brain reminded me. ‘He was painting that wall orange.’ The man followed my gaze, and noticed the paint covering me. “Oh no!” He said. “I’m sorry, I’m used to this, so paint doesn’t bother me. Can I help you get cleaned up?” As a businesswoman, I was used to selfishness and greed. But this, a complete stranger helping me for no reason, it moved me. I smiled at him. “That would be nice!”

And that’s where it started. He helped me clean up, and we talked a lot. We found out we had tons in common! He gave me his number, and, well...

Now, 18 years later, Jason and I are happily married. As tradition, every year on the day we met, we get paint and throw it at each other in an epic paint battle. Not only is it great fun, but it reminds me to slow life down, like my mother always told me. To enjoy the little things.