Here we are again, doesn't time fly?
Today I will be sharing a few Streams of Consciousness with you.
Remember these are RAW drafts. They have not been edited.
Let me know what you think!
This piece, titled The Streets, is part of a task for uni. We had to take one sentence and turn it into a piece of creative writing.
I still remember where it happened,
All those years ago.
It must be nearing on a decade,
I was just a child then.
I was a bairn who needed saving,
That’s what the firemen said.
I remember standing in the street,
Barefoot and shivering.
Clinging to my mam’s nightdress,
As thick smoke billowed above us.
The fire had started on George Street,
And jumped from house to house.
They couldn’t get it under control,
The flames kept jumping higher.
It took ages for the water to arrive,
No fancy machines in them days.
They had to fetch water from the pump,
Carry it through the streets.
People rushing with buckets to and fro,
But it wasn’t enough.
The flames had leapt,
From George Street to Princess Street.
There was nothing to be done,
A losing battle, my man said.
We stood in the darkness,
Amidst the screams and the crashes.
The blaze of the fire lighting the cobbles.
They got it under control,
And cost dozens of families their homes.
I remember women wearing bright red crosses,
Comforting those grieving in the streets,
For loved ones lost,
And possessions burned to ash.
23 people died that night.
Many of them asleep in their beds.
No such thing as smoke alarms then.
There was no forewarning.
Not like today.
No such thing as health and safety.
There are still gaps,
In Princess Street and George Street.
Where houses once stood,
And lives once lived.
The remains are still there,
A sign of respect for those who perished.
Even the tram stops at number twelve George Street.
Where it all started.
Where the fire took hold.
The Johnson family lived there.
I was friends with their son, Matthew.
He never turned twelve.
Never got his eleven plus results.
Mam said it was a shame,
Such a waste of life.
I was only a bairn.
But I remember those who died.
We all remember them.
There’s not a generation that doesn’t know,
Not a family who didn’t lose someone dear.
I still visit the streets.
Walk down George Street and Princess Street.
Reminisce of a time gone by.
The gaps in the houses.
They tell a story.
The story of the fire that blazed for hours.
I joined the British Red Cross when I was sixteen.
Remembered those nice women,
Who helped our crying neighbours.
With their black caps and cloaks and shiny shoes.
One gave me a mug of hot chocolate,
And told me I was brave.
I never found out her name.
Maybe she lost someone,
She had tears running down her cheeks too.
This piece is titled One Step Away. I wrote this in a lecture just as something to do.
Heather stood, silent and staring,
Swaying in the sharp wind.
And wrapped her thin arms round herself.
It was time.
She blinked owlishly,
As the sun began to rise,
And set fire to the sky above.
Her hair whipped round her shoulders,
It was time,
She had to do this.
There wouldn’t be another chance.
A strangled sob left her lips
No, she wouldn’t think of them,
Her friends and her family.
They were better off without her.
She was better off dead.
Her arms fell to her sides.
It was time.
Now or never.
She inched forward,
Her bare feet crunching on the stones.
The wind pushing her forwards,
Encouraging her to the edge.
Closer and closer to the precipice.
Her foot slipped.
This piece has yet to have a title, I am really bad at giving my work titles so if you think of something, let me know!
She wasn’t an easy person to be around.
Ivy knew what they thought of her,
She’d heard the whispers,
Noticed the lingering stares
And deep frowns on their foreheads.
She was wilful.
Didn’t care for rules or regulations.
They didn’t apply to her.
Why should she obey?
Mum said she was too headstrong,
Far too confidant for her own good.
It was rare she backed down,
From an argument or a fight.
She had to make her point,
Prove she was right.
Ivy was stubborn.
She knew this, of course.
But she wasn’t about to change.
It’s everyone else who has a problem.
Sure, trouble seemed to follow her,
Like a shadow.
She got expelled from three schools.
No one else wanted her.
Mum called her silly.
Throwing her education away.
What was she going to do with her life now?
What was she going to achieve>
Nothing, was the answer.
That’s what mum said.
Ivy was a lost cause.
She couldn’t be saved.
Sixteen times she was arrested,
Before she turned 21 years old.
She was a menace to society,
Many timed she breeched the peace,
That’s what people called her.
For speaking her mind,
Telling the truth.
Mum packed her bags one day,
Told her never to come back.
That she brought shame on the family.
So ivy left that night,
And made her own way.
Five long years it took,
To get people to listen,
To see past the labels that followed her.
Now she was a key speaker,
At major feminist events.
People liked her stuff,
They liked what she said.
She was gaining a fan base.
It’s funny, she thought,
As she stood by the window,
Clutching a mug of tea.
Funny how things turn out.
She never thought she’d get here.
How her life had changed.
If only mum could see her now,
Old bat would be spinning in her grave.