Coursework...

[Arguia Zsah]

 Thanks To Anna



Private William O?Ryan ? Billy to his mates still in France ? ran full pelt down the road, Canning Town Underground Station rapidly retreating behind him. His suitcase, an old battered specimen brought from the local market, bumped repeatedly into his legs and once almost made him fall, nearly losing his regimental beret as an especially hard evening breeze caught it. His uniform was very well worn, as were his black, lace-up boots and his dark black hair looked decidedly ruffled. He looked, as one fellow soldier had so delicately remarked, ?as if you ain?t had a bloody wash in weeks, mate!? Although, it should be pointed out, it is rather difficult to have a good wash when you?re busying fighting Jerry, and he hadn?t stopped long enough for one since he left France on well-deserved home leave.
   He turned left into Dockland walk and slowed slightly, panting and struggling to rid himself of a particularly nasty stitch. He was forced to a pause outside P. Johnson & Sons? Wine And Fine Goods, panting heavily before breaking out into a run again. As he passed the fruit shop on Old Maid?s Row, old Mrs. Parsons ? Canning Town?s resident gossip and do-gooder ? called out a greeting to him, but such was his hurry to get back home to Rosie and the kids that he totally ignored her and turned right into The Square. He paused only slightly as he passed St. Mary?s Church, bowing his head as if to thank the lord that he was still alive and turned right again into a narrow alley simply named The Alley. After he had run the length of this he stopped at a small florist?s to buy a beautiful bunch of pink daises (Rosie?s favourite) and then at Murphy?s for a small bar of chocolate for the kids to share.
   The River Thames reappeared over his left shoulder as he passed the police station, a tall, forbidding building. It drew closer as he ran down Tucker Street, and closer still as he turned into Lou?s Lane and then right past the kids? school. He was nearing home now ? a small two-bedroomed terrace house ? and he felt a shiver of excitement. Not far now, just around the corner, past old Rob lance?s house, right at The Ship Public House and then left into Hardings Avenue? and he froze. Stumbling he walked back to the street sign, and then, disbelieving, he counted his steps until he reached their house, number nine, and sank down onto the kerb.
   He sat there, head in his hands, and his life in tatters, blown away by the wind. Now and again he looked up and around before sinking again into the black pits of despair. His shoulders shook and tears poured down his weary face, he looked like someone whose been through hades and seen that it?s never ending.
   ?Why? Why did I have to go to France? Why? Why this? Why me! Why them!? he voice shook as angrily he cursed the ill fortune that drove him away from England, leaving his beloved family in such danger. ?Oh God! Why, why, why? Why did you do this to me? I went to church every Sunday, never took your name in vain, drunk too much, smoked or committed adultery! What did I do wrong? Please tell me that it?s all a dream! Please! I?ll never ask for anything again! I?ll give all my money away to charity! Just give me my Rosie back!? He beat the ground beside him, caring little for the cuts and bruises he was accumulating. Gradually his voice faded as he tired, his tears began to run out, but still he carried on, emotions running at an all time high through his body.
   ?Rosie! My Rosie! Where are you? What have they done with my kids? Oh!? He faltered and suddenly burst into a new stream of tears. He didn?t notice that night was falling or the temperature dropping, all his being was filled with the most intense sorrow he had ever experienced. ?Rosie! Oh Rosie! Why? Why? Why her? Why the kids? They were only, only, young! Why take all of them? Why? Oh God! Please!? He fell down onto the pavement, grasping his hands together and praying like hades to god, even though deep inside he knew they couldn?t have survived that, no one could, surely? After the entire street was flattened!
   ?Oh God! Why?? he cried, softly now, the anger he had felt earlier replaced by intense fatigue and never-ending despair. His tears had stopped and now he placed his head back in his hands, and was silent. Desperate thoughts flashed through his mind, and the last thing he saw before he fell asleep ? a restless, tormented sleep ? was Rosie, her long blonde hair brushing his shoulders as she kissed him, Catherine and Samantha laughing as they played with the pet rabbit he?d bought them before he went to war. It was an image that would come back to haunt him many times over the next few years.

*         *         *         *      

She watched him sleeping from her kitchen window, his head on his suitcase and one hand trailing onto the road. She longed to go out to him, to touch his sleeping features and caress his calloused hands. Her heart went out to him in his despair, she longed to be the one to comfort him, take him in from the streets, to be his guardian angel. Smiling slightly at her daydreams, she leaned closer to the window until her nose was almost touching it and stroked the glass.
She started as he opened his eyes, moaned slightly and turned over to face the other way.
?Yes? why not?? she murmured to herself. She had waited to long now just to leave this chance to fade away. She would make herself known to him, help him, and then maybe, when the war was over, he would be so grateful to her that he would admit his love for her and then they would get married and live in a big house in the country and?
?Ellen!? she chided herself, ?you?ll never get anywhere that way! If I?ve told you once, I?ve told you twice. Get on with it girl!? As she was saying this, she moved over to the pantry and selected two large speckled eggs which she placed in a saucepan of water.
?Three minutes, I think,? she muttered to herself, ?he looks like a three minute man to me? and toast. Of course? two, no, three slices I think. And butter. Plenty of butter, it?s good for shock?? She reached for the kettle next, ready to make him a cup of coffee before going out to invite him in to breakfast. ?Two sugars, no. He has blue eyes so? one and a half I think.? As she pondered which mug would best suit his temperament, she paused long enough in front of the glass back of the cooker to apply a quick layer of red lipstick and tuck a few stray strands of blonde hair behind her ears. As the kettle began to boil, Ellen put on her posh shoes and her fur coat? and saw her. There she was, all angelic in a pair of common blue jeans and blouse. Leaning over him! How dare she? Ellen slammed the door shut and stormed back into the kitchen, pulling off her shoes and flinging them under the table.
?The dog! The dog! How could she? After I helped her find somewhere to live after she arrived as well! She knew I loved him! And she goes and helps him! Well! That?s friends for you!? Ellen carried on in this tone for quite a while, cursing the unfortunate girl whom she had cared for not that long ago, and even cursing him, William, who she had yearned for ever since those dreamy, care free school days.
Looking out of the window, steam almost visible as she sulked, she watched Anna Goldman comfort him, her arm on his shaking shoulders as she listened to his anguished mumblings. Oh how she envied her! Not even one year in the country and she had already made it with a soldier.
?Okay, Ellen,? she told herself, ?if you can?t have him, then she bloody well won?t either. I wanted him first and I intend to see to it that I get him.? She smiled as she said this, the sort of smile a lion gives to a hapless gazelle before pouncing. But how could she do it though? How could she make sure that she got what she wanted?
?The children,? she mused, ?he?ll think they?re dead, won?t he? Well, we know different don?t we Ellen? What if he found out that she murdered them? yes that should do it.? She walked out of the kitchen and upstairs, whistling a funeral march to herself and wondering if he would still help her after all this years. She hadn?t seen him since that day, but a favour?s a favour, and types like that treat favours seriously. Yes, he would help her?
         
   
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Please tell me what you think! ;)  

[RazorClaw]

 Only one word for it: weird...

[Guthorm Swordmaster]

 I like it.

[Ashyra Nightwing]

 RC- If you think that's weird, you should read mine... One word- ZEPPELINS.

[Guthorm Swordmaster]

 lol pz ashy dont make RC read you'll get a ton of derragotry comments.

[Ashyra Nightwing]

 The Zeppelin


Frank Richardson sat in the living room watching the television with his wife when it all began.

He should have noticed the creak of straining ropes. He should have gone out to check if his pride and joy, his life?s work, his zeppelin was still there.

But unfortunately he was so absorbed in the latest episode of Emmerdale that, of course, he didn?t.

It was about halfway through the program that he went out to make himself a cup of coffee. He noticed that there seemed to be a lot more shadow around than usual, but thought nothing of it.

So it came as a great surprise to him to notice, on his return to the living room, his precious airship drifting slowly over the roofs of the houses opposite.

In fact, it was such a shock that he spilled his hot coffee all down the front of his brand-new shirt.

His wife heard the tinkle of breaking china as the cup dropped to the floor, and turned around.  Her eyes narrowed.

?Now look what you?ve done!? she shouted. Frank twitched. His eyes flicked back and forth between her and the slowly drifting zeppelin. ?That was my expensive teacup! And the only one, too!?

?But? but? That was my zeppelin!? spluttered Frank, regaining his voice. He pointed vaguely. His wife turned to look in the direction he was pointing and her eyes widened in shock. The airship drifted ever further. ?You know how much that cost me, don?t you, Mavis?? Frank continued. ?That ? that thing cost me??

But he was interrupted by his wife. ?Well, stop fussing about it and go off and catch it. It?s not moving very fast, you should still be able to do something.? She picked up his coat and shoved it into his unresisting hands.

Frank blinked. ?But what do I do?? he whined.

Mavis opened the door, pushed him outside and slammed the door in his face. He stood there for a moment, listening to the faint sound of the television.

- Oh, Edwin, how could you? How could you do this to me! Well ?

It seemed that he was going to have to miss the last half of Emmerdale after all.



He stared at the zeppelin, now a dark shape against the oncoming storm clouds and thought for a moment. Then he began to run. He ran down the drive and up the street. He ran faster that he had ever done before, past cars, startled pedestrians, trees, fences, lamp-posts? But it was no use. He?d never catch up with his zeppelin on foot. He slowed, stopped, and looked blankly at the sky, then at the road, then back at the sky again. So much time and effort, not to mention money, just floating off into the distance like a huge party balloon? He?d never be able to afford another one.  He was just standing there, helplessly watching his airship drift further and further away and there was nothing, absolutely nothing that he could do?

Two bright headlamps and a glowing orange sign made him look down. There, speeding towards him, was the ticket back to his zeppelin, and then back home! Hastily he stuck out his hand. The taxi braked sharply, then reversed until the driver?s window was level with Frank. Slowly the window opened, revealing the driver. He was a short, fat man with sunglasses on, even though the sky was darkening. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and spoke.

?Where would you like to go then, mister??

Frank grinned weakly. ?Er, somewhere tall? A tall building, perhaps? Er?? He thought for a moment. ?The town hall. Yes. Take me to the town hall.?



*

The rain pounded against the glass of the taxi?s window and trickled down the sides of the car as it pulled up in the main square. Frank was ushered out of the taxi, charged a ridiculously large sum of money and left suddenly alone in the square as the rain poured down from the sky like a waterfall. The airship was almost directly overhead. He looked up, trying to work out how high it was flying, but he couldn?t. It was too close. Quite high, he thought. High enough. At least it wasn?t flying at street-level, knocking against lamp-posts, crashing into trees? But maybe it was too high; maybe he wouldn?t be able to reach it from the top of a tall building.

His gaze swung sideways to the great ornamental spire of the Town Hall. He?d head there, and hope that it was high enough? No, it was madness! He?d fall and kill himself! But, then again, he might not?

He broke into a run again, the rain soaking through his cheap coat and plastering his hair to his head. The only other living creature in the square was a man selling sponges of every different colour, ones shaped like hamburgers, ones shaped like sausages? Frank grabbed the umbrella over the stall and ran on, his shoes sliding in puddles and sending water splashing everywhere. The sponge-seller chased after him with his heavy suitcase packed with merchandise for a while, waving a sponge and shouting abuse, but Frank paid him no attention. He ran through the shopping centre, with its silent displays and dark, empty windows, staring back at him like huge blank eyes. He reached the town hall, pushed open the heavy oak door and stood on the doormat for a while, dripping wet and silent, pondering where to go next.  

He walked into the lift, trailing mud and water behind him. Staring at the lit-up panel for a moment, he pressed the closest number to the top and waited. He felt the familiar stomach-churning feeling as the lift shot upwards. The doors opened, and Frank stepped out onto a flooded rooftop square. It had been closed off a few years before for safety reasons, and there were still rotting wooden picnic tables dotted around the area.

Against all chances, the zeppelin was floating past.

He sprinted to the edge of the roof and looked down. His senses were screaming at him to forget the zeppelin, but he paid no attention. He looked along the length of the roof. The zeppelin floated closer. Its front end passed and he stared at the miraculously open door of the control cabin. It floated closer. It was so close, nearly close enough to touch?  Glancing down, he could see for the first time just how high up he was. Terror gripped him as he looked down, over the edge, across the town. He could see his house- a vague shape in the distance- far further away than he had first thought. Far away. Too far away.  Terror?s icy fingers gripped him and, tearing his gaze away from the streets below, he returned his attention to the zeppelin.  It had drifted further away from the edge of the building! Unthinkingly he reached out his hand and his feet lost their grip on the slippery floor, and he fell ? and landed again, instantly, his legs dangling out of the door, hanging over oblivion, but the rest of him ? the rest of him was safe! His heart pounding with fear, Frank struggled inside the zeppelin and closed the door behind him, dripping water onto the floor. The water formed a puddle that slowly trickled over to the left side of the cabin as Frank lurched over to the chair at the airship?s controls. He sank into the squashy leather chair and sighed. Now it was back home, and back to the television, and if he was extremely lucky and this whole escapade hadn?t taken as long as he thought it had, back to Emmerdale.

He tugged at one of the levers and ? nothing happened.  

And then it struck him. All those years of building this zeppelin, all the years of buying complex engines and huge amounts of hydrogen. All that time he had taken, and he had forgotten to add one simple thing. Just one thing.



He?d forgotten to add steering.


Heee!  :P

[Guthorm Swordmaster]

 i like it,But i like any piece writing because i cant write.

[RazorClaw]

 LOL, Ashyra! Though, really, it would never happen... *waits for someone to say, "No kidding!"*

[Guthorm Swordmaster]

 Just to please you No Kidding

[Ashyra Nightwing]

 It could happen. Maybe.

[Guthorm Swordmaster]

 If they're as stupid as you yes.

[RazorClaw]

It could happen. Maybe.

Uh-huh. Someone would spend hundreds of thousands of pounds to get a zeppelin, not secure it properly, jump off a tall building to get it and find they forgot to install steering?

[IB-frank]

 Well, I liked it. How long did it take you?

[Ashyra Nightwing]

 A few hours, methinks. I'm not sure, though...

[Guthorm Swordmaster]

 hOw many a4 pieces of paper did you need?