Welcome back to this weeks (usually weekly) issue of the creationary corner. In this weeks issue we journey through the varied landscapes of the world with, for the first time, an external submission. I hope you enjoy the amazing short story by Yvonne, and I look forward to seeing more submissions soon.
If you’d like to submit a piece to be considered for next weeks issue please contact me by email at 2hurleo@royalhospitalschool or alternativley comtact Mr Hodson at firstname.lastname@example.org and We’ll be sure to get back to you as soon as possible. Many thanks in advance, we look forward to seeing the amazing talent that you have to offer.
“The Empress” by Yvonne De Villiers
Darkness had claimed the wild savanna, replacing the sweltering heat of the African sun with the breathtaking tapestry of stars. The remnants of the sun’s path across the sky framed in the inky midnight of the darkness beyond. The sun baked earth desperately clung to what heat remained from the day, creating a startling contrast between the chill air on the skin and the warm earth beneath the feet. The buffalo weavers ceased their endless flitting, choosing to retire for the night in their intricately woven nests and the cicadas ended their rhythmic calls, being replaced with the shrill chirping of the crickets hidden in the tall elephant grass.
The river wound steadily along its course, a constant flow of water that selflessly provided the occupants of the savanna water during even the worst of droughts. The shimmer of moonlight in its water turned its contents into liquid silver, rippling and dancing in the current of the flow with its welcome light, its beauty hiding the monsters that lurked beneath. Ancient reptiles that waited patiently, as they’d done for millennia, for innocent unsuspecting prey to fall foul of their devious ways.
Like a field of boulders in a sea of swaying grass, the herd of buffalo gathered together for the night, calves safely in the middle of the group as bulls surveyed the darkness for hidden dangers. Safety in numbers was a rule for staying alive in the inhospitable wilderness these animals called home. A place that burned at day and housed unseen terrors at night, a land where one never knew if they would live to see another sunrise.
The menacing call of the hyenas echoed across the plains, causing the smaller animals to scurry for their burrows as the roving pack discovered the lions’ latest kill. The buffalo had once been a mighty bull that had defended his herd with everything he had, but age had crippled him and left him to the mercy of the heartless African predators. He lay on his side, eyes staring sightlessly into the darkness, ribcage agape and innards gone, long consumed by a hungry pride. The hyena pack tore at what meat remained, snapping at each other as one tried to steal the other’s scraps. When the rowdy band finally finished feeding, his ribs glistened white in the moon’s radiance like a monument to his life and ultimate death.
A herd of impala grazed peacefully, ears flickering in the constant search for any chance of danger, dark eyes glistening. But no matter how vigilant one may be, there will always be something that misses detection.
She struck like a bolt of lightning.
There was no time for the impala to react before her jaws were round its throat, deadly canines set in a powerful jaw crushing the windpipe almost instantly. The eyes, once bright and alive, faded to dull lifelessness as its herd scattered. Within a heartbeat, the clearing was devoid of life, except for her. Her golden eyes glittered with primal intelligence as the warm blood of her kill stained her maw and slicked down her throat. She turned, and despite dragging the body of the impala with her, she moved with a deadly grace as she disappeared into the night once more.
The sun rose once more over the eastern horizon, constant and uncaring of the eyes that would never again behold its radiant beauty as it painted the sky with a myriad of colours and lined the clouds with gold. The river, once molten silver, glowed with the fire of the sun itself, waiting for the first brave souls to breach its surface and drink from its blazing waters.
Graceful as ever, moving with the sinuous grace of the predator she was, the leopard padded down to the water’s edge and dipped her head in. The flowing stream washed away the blood of her kill, revealing the bright white fur of her underbelly once more. The unique pattern of her glossy pelt danced as she moved, a beautiful pattern of golden shadows. The lion may have been the king, but she was the empress; a figure of breathtaking beauty that ruled the shadows and stole lives with a brutal grace found nowhere else. These plains belonged to her, just as the sky belonged to the birds, and it was only as she melted back into the ever shifting grass that the other animals dared approach the shore
“Jewelled silence” by Oliver Hurley
Breathe in the fractured air of a thousand movements,
Feel the cool, the cold, the careful winds, strong but inner warm.
Gaze upon the naked bark, beauty in its rebirth,
Smell the colour of the pallid scene, greyed, dulled, still.
Further into the dim din of rustling leaves, engulfed
By the earth’s warm embrace, further through the
Twisting boulevards of living dying things,
Further until you stop and stand, breathe the peaceful air
Lost in the silence of the dream.
“At Night” By Oliver Hurley
creaking concrete, the cold crunch
Of foot on stone, tip tap
Stop. stand still, silent.
Comforts far away,
Drowned by the guttural cry
Of silence, feeling it’s way
Up alleys, up streets,
Spines. Sliding like a dog.
Light far gone,
Eaten up by the chaotic pit
Of blinding gloom, its waves
Like a dream, like dust,
Death. Droning of serpents.
Life eps out,
Flowing like silky mud
Blood stained, silent.