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Paul
Tuesday, 8:46am
11/9/2002
I blink. A boy next to me is scuffing the tip of his shoe on the playground floor, creating a little fuzzy grey patch that stands out against the shiny black leather. Wont his Mom be mad? My mom definitely would be. Yesterday, I caught my school sweater while I was fighting pirates with Johnny Smith, and all the knitting on my sleeve came loose. My mom told me I was not to play with Johnny again and stayed up way past bed time, probably even past nine o’clock, fixing it because we definitely couldn’t afford another one in this climate. It is a shame though; Johnny’s one of the best pirate capturers I know.
The teachers are doing that thing where they put us in lines and then talk about stuff, thinking we can’t hear them. I don’t know why we’re all outside, but I don’t mind so long as I miss math. There’s an announcement that we’re being sent home for the day. I guess today’s my lucky day; it must be one of those national holidays or something. We all begin to follow our class teacher out of the school gates. This is when the worst news ever hits: I’ve snagged my jumper again. I’m going to have to fix this before Mom sees, I start to think, just as I get distracted by a huge cloud of smoke coming from that place near Aunt Sally’s work. It looks so angry and so real. I look down at my jumper and know at once that I will not be able to fix this hole. The pirates are back.
Jane
Tuesday, 8:46am
11/9/2002
I blink. Who does he think I am? I’m trying to order coffee, which is definitely not rocket science. I tell him my order again, pointedly slower this time, safe in the knowledge that I will not receive what I asked for. I do not have time for this. I’ve already taken a detour due to their being no caffeine in my house and now an incompetent boy can’t write down a simple order. This is the exact reason I set up Paul’s college fund. I flatten my skirt while I wait. I must admit I am nervous. It’s been a while since I’ve had to do a pitch, and what’s worse is I’m very aware that I cannot mess it up or else my sister will hold it over me for the rest of my life. Setting me up with a job was nice and I couldn’t exactly turn it down, not in this climate, so here I am. My order arrives and I hastily turn to leave; there really is no point looking down to check what I’ve received. This is the moment when I hear the sirens. I step outside and I look up. My head spins and I reach to the wall for support. Turns out, my order was right after all.
Sally
Tuesday, 8:46am
11/9/2002
I blink. It feels as though my skin has been painstakingly peeled from body, leaving only a mangled mess of muscle and bone as a tribute for what was once me. Every inch of my form burns as though it were a slab of freshly cut raw meat, callously dropped into citric vinegar. I can feel the scorching flames around me yearn to lick my eye sockets clean, finishing a job they so readily started. The fire seems to encourage the now vastly billowing smoke to poison every inch of my lungs, clinging mercilessly to every particle. It begins to intoxicate my body just as it has the autumn sky, and unbeknown to me, the world’s television screens. Perhaps it is the shock of the explosion, or the fact that my pain is becoming incomprehensible, but my mind has removed itself from the scene unfolding, literally, around me. I hear nothing but a distant ringing as I rise upwards with the black smoke, dancing amongst the charred embers that were once the making of my office. Through the seventy-third floor window and I have escaped the chaos. I breathe relief into my lungs as the hazy sunlight blinds my vision. It dawns on me that it’s oddly bright out here; I like it. I’ve often thought that my office was too dull. The air rushes past my skin, kissing every ounce of my blistering body. I feel soothed, contented almost. My mind starts to envisage every aspect of my life. A thought occurs. If a person dies and is buried, how can it be called “an end” if flowers begins to grow? As my remaining seconds slip through my own hands, my mind becomes calm. I’ve never been the type of person to question, so I close my eyes to find content in the knowledge that flowers will grow.
Rosalie comes from a tiny village in the North of England in which sheep outnumber people.
'I currently study Literature at York St. John University, which I absolutely love and am about to go and study in America for a semester, which I cannot wait for. Throughout my life, I have always had an interest in books and reading. It amazes me how words can almost control situations; they can evoke emotions that you never knew exist and reveal aspects of life that you'd perhaps never have considered. What most amazes me is that we, as writers, use a mere 26 letters to do so. I consider myself to be quite a simple soul; I find I am happiest roaming what I consider to be my countryside, with both of my ridiculously giddy dogs bounding alongside. I'd like to think that I might possess a modest amount of skill when it comes to writing, as that is what I love most in the world and what I hope one day I can make a livelihood from.'