Jacob Thomason
New to creative writing, going to Uni next year. Want as much feedback as possible.
Jacob Thomason
New to creative writing, going to Uni next year. Want as much feedback as possible.
New to creative writing, going to Uni next year. Want as much feedback as possible.
New to creative writing, going to Uni next year. Want as much feedback as possible.
Nothing can compare, To the view of a families despair. Telling them bad news, Is nothing you get used to.
This part of the job, Your emotions it will rob. Keeping a straight face and being neutral, Whilst delivering news that’s far too brutal.
Being this professional, Can sometimes seem questionable. People asking why, As they try not to cry.
You think your used to death, But every time you tell bad news you have to draw a deep breath. The fear of facing a family and telling bad news, Is a feeling you never loose.
No matter if you’re a doctor or nurse, Telling bad news is like a curse. Doesn’t matter if you’re young or old, You know the damage it does once it’s told.
Telling a mother her baby is dead, Keeps you awake when you lie in bed. Telling a child their parent has died, You’ll wish you hadn’t and just lied.
Telling bad news, Is something you never get used to. I’ve got to tell a family bad news now, But I’m not sure how.
Tectonic plates keep our world together, But they will be our danger forever.
They lie under the sea deep below, They collide and the pressure begins to grow.
They produce a rumble that no-one really knows, Except on a sizeometer where the pattern shows.
Then all of a sudden a loud bang is heard, It pops your ears and turns your blood to curd.
The air cracks and the ground begins to rumble, As people run and buildings crumble.
The noise is harsh and smashes windows, As the ferocity of the earthquake grows.
Some people run and some people hide, Unfortunately some people have already died.
This powerful quake came completely unseen, And now has flattened this area like a bulldozing machine.
Mother Nature shows never to underestimate her, As she shows off her Thundering Whisper.
Standing on the rocky cliff above the sea, I looked down to see where I would land. Staring back at me was the ocean, a vast expanse of cold darkness. I’m afraid of water, not drinking water, but swimming pools, lakes and especially the sea.
I’ve been diagnosed with Thalassophobia, the fear of large open bodies of water. The ocean is the epitome of this fear.
Looking at the ocean from so high up, you can see the waves crashing into the side of the cliff, the white horses charging at the rocks. The ocean is a mesmerising murderer, it entices you in with beautiful waves, glistening water and abundant sea life, only to swallow you up in a current and pull you under to your doom.
Standing here twiddling my thumbs and time wasting seems like the best way to avoid diving in, I want to overcome my fear but the big blue monster is waiting for me, the endless abyss of crushing water.
Getting ready to jump, I hear to wind pick up speed and the waves increase their ferocity, the ocean is getting ready to grab me. The seagulls are getting louder as if taunting me, and the ocean crashes against the cliff as if trying to drown them out.
I’m the first one in my friends group to try this, I know I must set an example, but as my feet leave the cliff and my body becomes one with the air, I realise I’ve made a grave mistake.
Being a writer, you’d think Mark would be very excited about going out and exploring new areas, going on adventures and meeting new people. Well you’d be wrong. Didn’t didn’t like any of that. Mark was always a quiet and somewhat lonely person, he never really made many friends at school or in the jobs he had when he was younger. He never really spent much time with family, unless they came over to his house.
He orders all his shopping to be delivered to his house so he doesn’t have to go out into the busy shops and be around people. The only truly sociable thing Mark does is when he makes his way down to the pub and has a few pints.
It’s not like Mark couldn’t make friends or relationships. He was tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, average build and very well spoken. The only downfall he had to his social ability was that he didn’t like people. Now a lot of people say the my don’t like people and don’t like being in crowds, but Mark really hated people. It was something about their mannerisms and false happiness that got under Marks skin even when he was a child.
Mark was thankful that people bought and read his books, but he would rather jump off a bridge than attend a book signing due to his distane for the general public.
However, one night whilst Mark was trying to come up with an idea for a new book series he wanted to write, something happened that would shake Mark to his very core.
It was 21:30pm on a chilly spring evening and Mark was sat at his desk trying to think. He was pretty well known in the writing world for his latest book series which had garnered him wide spread praise, his book series was basically Thundercats meets Transformers. However, he wanted to go into a different genre now, he was thinking of going into the horror genre although that was easier said than done.
Mark was very well known for being a sort of ‘cover artist’ amongst writers, he’d take beloved characters and combine them, such as his Thundercats meets Transformers crossover and his Scooby Doo meets Poirot crossover. However, Mark now wanted to focus on one character and his idea be original.
As he sat there, absorbed in a cloud of thoughts, his door bell rang. The noise woke Mark up from his almost catatonic state of thought and he made his way over to his front door. As he got within a few steps of the front door, his door bell rang again and again and again. He could hear the ferocity with which the door bell was being pressed and he felt a slight hint of hesitation as his hand reached for the door handle.
Opening the door slowly, Mark peering round and saw a average height man standing on his front porch. He opened the door fully, and enquired what the man wanted. The stranger met Marks gaze and explained his situation. He said that his car had broken down and tried calling a repair company but because of how late it was, no-one was able to come out and help him. He said he walked all the way down the road for a good half and hour until he saw the lights of Marks home and decided to ask for help. The strange requested shelter for the night until he could contact a repair company in the morning and he’d be on his way.
Mark didn’t have any patience for people like this but thinking about the danger this could have to his reputation if he left this guy subjected to the elements, he caved in and allowed the stranger to come inside his house. Marks immediately set some ground rules though, no shoes, socks or slippers only, no touching his writing equipment and no distracting him from his work.
After the stranger agreed to Marks terms, Mark turned around and went back to his exciting task of writers block. Mark thought about the stranger during his writers block period, there wasn’t anything remarkable or outstanding about him. He was average height (about 5ft10), dark brown hair, light brown eyes with an unbranded tracksuit on. He had manners which Mark respected and a certain calmness that gave Mark a slight feeling of unease.
An hour later, Mark got up from his blank word document to get a drink and to check up on his unwanted guest. However when he stepped foot in his kitchen, he saw his cupboards had been ransacked, everything was all over the floor and his cupboards torn off their hinges. Looking over the complete annihilation of his kitchen, he saw that the only things missing were his knives.
Noticing this, he stepped out of the kitchen peered round his hallway. No-one was there, grabbing a meat tenderising hammer from the floor, he made his way through the ground floor of his house. Mark wasn’t J.K Rowling or Charles Dickens famous so he didn’t live in a mansion, but he was popular enough to have a home that was far nicer than most, so he made his way through it.
He carefully went up the stairs, trying not to make a sound, meat tenderiser in hand, he cleared each room, turning on the light and making sure nothing was out of the ordinary. As he came to his own room, he heard what sounded like someone rummaging round in there.
In a moment of adrenaline fuelled bravery, he flung open the floor and flicked on the light, to find the stranger rifling through his personal information. In one hand he had Marks’ birth certificate and in the other, he hand his passport. As Mark tried to make sense of the scene, he saw the knives laid out on his bed, almost resembling a butcher kit, with the stranger slowly inching closer to them.
Lunging forward, Mark swung the mallet at the stranger, narrowly missing his head allowing the stranger to roll over the bed, grab the knives and run out of the room. Mark cautiously pursued, even though he knew the layout of his house, he didn’t know what the stranger was capable of or how much he knew about Mark.
The time was now close to 1am and with all the lights off in the house, Mark felt himself getting tired. Knowing this would kill him, he tried to keep himself awake, he slapped his face, bashed himself on the head with the mallet, did anything to remain focussed enough to stay alive.
Suddenly Mark stopped, he realised he’d wondered down stairs, all that time he’d spent trying to keep himself awake , he happened been paying attention to his surroundings. Then, as Mark focused again, he heard footsteps running along the hallway towards him. Turning 180 degrees anti clockwise he saw the stranger hurtling towards him, a large knife in hand and the loon of pure concentration and almost predatory body movements.
Swinging the knife, the stranger cut deep into Marks left arm, just below the shoulder. In pure instinct, Mark swung the mallet back at the stranger and caught him square in the chest. Having knocked the wind out of his aggressor, Mark ran to his mobile and began to dial 911. As his phone rang he heard the stranger clamber to his feet and pick up the knife.
Mark tried to keep the stranger at bay by telling him he was contacting the police, however they had zero effect on the strangers demeanour. As Mark began to tell the police where he lived, the stranger pulled a second knife from his trouser pocket. Now with a large knife in each hand, Mark knew this was something he’d have to sport out personally. Having informed the police of his situation, Mark hung up and put his phone down, but before engaging his opponent, he tried to establish a motive.
Asking why the stranger would want to do this, his reply was a cold and monotone “why not?”
This sent a chill down Marks spine as he realised his opponent clearly had nothing personal against him, he just wanted to kill Mark for shits and giggles. Gripping his mallet in his right hand, Mark reared up to swing, then darted left and ran towards his garage. Mark knew this made him look like a coward, but Mark knew he had some heavy duty equipment in his garage that could help him.
Sprinting into his garage, he quickly looked round searching for something to use to give himself an advantage. Then he saw it, his nail gun, he quickly took it off the wall and through the nails into it. With an new weapon and a new sense of power, he turned round faced out the door and towards his wanna be murderer. Gripping both weapons, he leapt out of the garage and charged towards the stranger shouting “Thundercats hoooooo” and fired his nail gun at the stranger.
Completely bewildered by this change in the battle, the strayer tries to retreat however he only got a few steps back before having his legs turned into pin cushions by Mark and his nail gun. Bringing down the mallet, Mark broke both of the strangers legs to stop him from moving and hit him in the check again.
With his opponent completely dazed and out of breath, Mark took back his knives and threw them to the other side of the room and stood in front of his now battered and beaten aggressor with his nail gun trained on him waiting for the police to arrive.
20 minutes later, the police entered Marks house and found him standing opposite a battered and bruised man, now pale from blood loss. The police secured the area making sure no-one else was around and got an ambulance crew out to their location as well. Mark was overjoyed to see the police and he now truly felt safe, although a slither of his hatred for people still showed.
After they had taken the now seriously injured stranger away and questioned Mark. He sat on his sofa and switched off his nail gun. It was now almost 1:30 in the morning, and Mark having used up all his adrenaline was extremely tired and fatigued. He threw the nail gun onto the floor and went to sleep on the sofa.
The next morning, Mark woke up and immediately got in the shower to clean his knife wound. After doing so and putting on a new shirt, he went downstairs to survey the damage. Looking around, he saw nails in the walls and cushions, blood spatters on the walls and the strangers shoes still sitting by the front door.
As he wandered round his living room, he had a moment of inspiration, this could be his new book. He immediately set to work writing the book, which was a personal rendition of his own experience of the night before and the main character named after himself. He named the book Marked for Murder.
Space is something we’ve always pondered, Men women and children alike have always wondered, What’s life like up there in the void, Is there life or has it been destroyed.
We as humanity have always pushed the limit, How do we get up there, a rocket lets build it, Admittedly we’ve never always been together, With each country wanting to do better.
Each country wanted to get to space, Countries like Russia and America locked in a race, Wanting to beat each other more and more, To go further than any man has gone before.
We’ve had success and more would follow, Astronauts like Buzz and then the Apollo, We have made mistakes some big and some small, Some astronauts came back and some not at all.
We’ve collected data from the Moon and from Mars, And other planets beyond the stars, Yet we still know more about space than our own seas, We know more about what’s up too than what lies beneath.
Space is something the inspires us all, But we forget we’re just so small, We try to traverse the endless void, Just to watch our work get destroyed.
Humanity may be the alpha upon the earth, But in space that title has little worth, When in the endless and lifeless space, You’ll soon be reminded of your place.
Space travel was an idea we were all for, Believing we were boldly going where no man has been before, But now the sky full of stars seemed so dead and cold, A place so magical now hurt to behold.
Cooking in the kitchen is fun, Although sometimes it can be glum.
Different foods can be full of danger, But it’s worth it for the flavour.
Things like carrots are always a pain to peel, And the myth that they help you see in the dark isn’t real.
Onions are something you can do anything with every fry, But they don’t half make you cry.
All kitchens have a work top where you can prepare, So you can cut up your vegetables and ingredients with care.
Cupboards are where you keep all your herbs and spices, It’s also where you can keep all your different rices.
A kitchen is somewhere you can cook any type of dish, One with meat or one with fish.
You have the ingredients to cook any kind of meal, It really just depends on how you feel.
Cooking in the kitchen is only as fun as you make it, Although you should have your food taste nice and not taste of shit.
For me the kitchen is sanctuary it’s where I have fun, Unless you run out of ingredients then you have to go on a run.
Everyone wonders what would happen to humanity if the world was damaged beyond repair. Well, I can tell you, we went underground. I know, you were expecting something like Wall-E where we went into space or something like ‘2012’ where we build massive arks. NOPE. We ran and hid.
You’re probably racking your brain trying to figure out what caused humanity, the beings at the top of the food chain, to resort to living underground. Simple. Nuclear fallout. Tensions rose so much between countries because of different ideologies, ways of handling things such as climate change, borders, territorial beliefs such as the Russian and Ukrainian war.
Ironically, the underground bunker that could save the majority of humanity was in Russia, the largest country in the world and one of the most volatile. It’s a bunker that stretches down into the earths crust deep enough the house multiple countries worth of people. However, like the social pyramid in this bunker is flipped. The poorest countries are at the top, closer to the radiation and whatever lives out there, and the richer and more powerful nations are far deeper within the bunker, far away from the radiation with far more resources.
Immigration is far more difficult in this underground human new hive, as there are far stricter regulations to get into the richer countries. Not to mention the armed guards at the gates of entry. I’m in the British level which is favourable for my survival, and it also allows me easier access to other levels, especially the poorer levels. However, each level has its own dangers. The richer levels take every precaution to make sure your worthy of entering, they check your credentials, paper work, family history, search your person. Inversely, the poorer levels don’t check much, they check your passport and if your from a richer level, they give you a purple dot of ink on the back of your hand, this is where things get tricky.
The majority of the poorer levels hold a great deal of resentment towards the richer levels due to their lack of resources and their increased proximity to the harmful radiation of the outside world, therefore if you’re seen with the purple dot on yourself, you’re liable to be stopped by people and asked for money or even robbed and beaten up.
This is why most people stick to their own levels unless it’s for work. Of course certain jobs require immediate access to different levels, such as the sentries who patrol the richer levels, constantly on the look out for any poor people who may have slipped through the gates and are hiding in the rich levels. Another job that gives an increased level of diplomatic clearance is the role of surveyor, who wear protective suits and venture up onto the earths surface and survey the damage and danger of the place we once called home.
We’ve been like this for centuries, constantly moving between levels, building some semblance of order and justice, wondering when and if the surface will ever be hospitable to humans again. You thought 2020 was bad, try living in 2620. It’s on another level.
Catch me if you can, But you never will, As I try to get away from your hand, Like a weird game of Jack and Jill.
Running through the playground, Trying to get away, Everyone going round and round, More and more people want to play.
This game is fun, This game is cool, To play in the sun, If you’re caught you’re a fool.
We do have other games, Though we tend not to bother, But they are all somewhat the same, When some of us are cops and some of us are robbers.
There are different aspects of this game, The game we call Tag, When the chaser catches you, You wave the white flag.
You can do Tag with more chasers, Or hide and seek, The odds aren’t in your favour, You’ll be caught if you peek.
When playing Tag we had a plan, Something to say a taunt if you will, ‘Catch me if you can, But you never will’
During the day it’s safe, They only lurk in the shadows, In the light you should have faith, You can see them out your windows.
You go out during the day, Because you’re protected, You’re allowed to have your way, Because they’re presence is rejected.
You go out and meet your friends, Or even spend time with family, But nighttime is where the fun ends, And even sometimes brings tragedy.
They know your name, They know who you are, To them you’re just fair game, You won’t get very far.
This is why you should run home at night, Because all there is are shadows, You’re gonna be in for one hell of a fright, Because they can see you through your windows.
So lock up your house do this nightly, Leave the lights on don’t be dumb, Door shut tightly, Might the monsters come.
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