Sunewland

The grim light in Sunewland struck Karl as it always did. He momentarily gritted his teeth, intending to shroud the putrid smell with his saliva. But it was no use. Overpopulation had become a cancer, consuming every resource: his kind, the Lowlifes, continued to swell their falvaelias resulting in the once vivid land dulling like a forgotten painting. Karl, standing 400 metres away, witnessed the white, stark structure of The City mount the rugged falvaelias, clinging desperately onto the crumbling hillsides. He could not recall when they had turned like that. The non-existent rain intensified, and Karl urgently caved into the wooden door, now sagged on rusted hinges. He nestled his nose into his scrawny jumper and reluctantly left. On his departure, he was met by the sickly swarms of bodies heading in different directions. Even so, he continued on his way towards freedom.

At work, the morning speech (‘Fate wants you to work’ ‘Freedom is Work’  ‘Hope Is Ignorance’ ) is usually replayed twice, spitting urgent demands at him. Karl always felt the distinctive shift as the air grew thinner; his office had narrow walls and a dimly lit lamp which occasionally flickered. He thought this was in order to hide the secrets of The Elite. Karl worked as handiman finding suppliers for their newspapers, which was relatively simple work but tedious. The place smelt damp and of lies, but it was bearable compared to the masses outside.  Introducing the Curdling Night: ‘something new!’ Karl snuck a read of the day’s headline. He silently watched the dust in the air fly before a gush of wind held the newspaper upright and stationary, urging him to read further: The Elite have devised a solution to overpopulation.. his knuckles clenched as he leaned forward: We call this the Curdling Night, the night where 10 people die. 

By Kwame Heymann

I am alone, but not lonely. The dry drizzle hugging me is like heaven. The rain calms me; it helps me think, helps me focus. Helps me be free. I stood up from the sturdy, dark oak bench I had been sitting on and ran through the colourful field which surrounded me. Jumping around, I felt pure liberty and bliss.

Suddenly, reality gripped me back to the present day. The gentle caress of the drizzle revealed itself as a full throttle attack. It was straight and silvery, like a punishment of steel rods. I opened my eyes and looked around to see the almost abandoned streets where I grew up. The world cannot stay like this - a depressive, unbelievable hell. I need to find out why the world is like this. I need to know why government, society - everything - is the way it is.

By Ceylin Pia Marciante Karakoc 

Many hearts had melted away into tears. Blood curdling shrieks and outcries had bounced against the walls of my house, being played in an endless loop in my head. Corpses littered public spaces and were stacked in immense numbers. My wife and children had perished before my eyes.

I've lost my reason for living.

 Many had been frightened to death by the sight of the infection. It made me disconnect with my family, to the point where I couldn’t even give them a hug. Engulfed in the tyranny of being imprisoned in your home with no one and nothing to help you was a challenge hard to bear. This was how it was for everybody.

I'll never get to see someone smile at me again. I'll never get to make someone laugh with my jokes or hold them when they cry. What purpose do I have staying alive? Why am I still here? For, only time can tell. But for now, I am the last one standing.

By Sophonias Leoul

Racism. This is a topic that has been spoken about for decades, yet we can argue that not enough has changed. Even after all of the rules and regulations, speeches and protests, headlines and hashtags, still there are people who are seen as less just because of the colour of their skin. Although I have not experienced this first hand, it is impossible to miss. I have seen it even in football, a game billions of people around the world love. Players hurt, abused and even forced to stop playing because of the abuse they receive, not only on the pitch but in the headlines. And this is where we come to the power of language - to harm but also to heal.

Learning about new authors such as Malorie Blackman has truly opened my eyes. On our visit to the Malorie Blackman exhibition she describes her experience of never feeling represented in the stories that she read or watched, but she said that she loved Othello because it was one of the only stories that featured a black character. Revolutionary authors such as Blackman and Toni Morrison are now changing the world by creating their stories and sharing them. These books give the younger generations characters to relate to and could inspire a whole generation of authors in the future. A change like this could change the world. What we see, read, and learn about, especially when we are young, can shape our futures.

By Alex Reeve-Briard