• Category Archives Creative Writing
  • Princess and the Pea, as told by the pea – 10 minutes timed creation

    Hello, is anybody there? My name is Peabody Green, and I need help. I was kidnapped and held hostage last night. I managed to escape this morning, but I’m fearful for the rest of my family.

    The last thing I remember before it happened, is being in my pod with my brother and three sisters. It was cosy, dark, and cool. I was awoken by a sudden popping noise, and a pinprick of light which pierced the pod like a knife. The pod was torn in two, and a giant thumb swept through the pod remains, and detached us, one by one, making us tumble down into a bowl. I can’t tell you how many peas were in there, I was in a sea of green. I couldn’t see my family, and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t roll around to search.

    The giant thumb, accompanied by a finger, plucked me out of the bowl. I was enveloped in the grip of a giant, it was dark, hot, and moist. I knew we were travelling, but I couldn’t tell how far, or in which direction we had travelled. When we stopped moving, I was placed on top of a wooden board, and a large squishy object was placed on top of me. It was hard to breathe, and I couldn’t see a thing. The only thing I could do was listen.

    Time passed, and I began to think I’d been forgotten. I had no idea why I’d been taken, or for what purpose, and I started to plan my escape. I heard a door open, and footsteps getting louder as someone walked towards the place I was being held. I thought it was going to be the finger and thumb again, and braced myself for the inevitable hot, moist journey which was to follow. I was surprised when the squishy thing wasn’t lifted, and instead, a large figure lay on top of it.

    The squishy thing was pushed harder into me, the wooden board unyielding kept me in place. I heard a shrill voice yell something about a bed being uncomfortable, and the sound of multiple rushing footsteps followed.

    The weight of the squishy thing above me kept getting heavier, and heavier; yet the shrill voice continued still. This happened over a number of hours, as each one passed I prayed for it all to stop…

    The weight was finally lifted, and I rolled off the wooden board. I fell, forgotten onto the dusty floor and made my way to a corner, it is from this corner I am making my plea. Please, someone help me.


  • Home

    When I think about the mind, it reminds me of an old house, dark and decrepit. The paintwork on the façade is cracked, peeling, scorched by the sun, and battered by the winds of the past. It is uninviting, but somehow draws you in, like a moth to a flame.  You can’t help but walk up the splintered steps to explore the inside.

    The heavy wooden door is slightly ajar. You feel your heart quickening in your chest, the blood pounding in your ears like a beating drum. You struggle to catch your breath; you want to turn away and flee like so many others before you, but you know you must go on.

    The corridor is long, dark, and dusty; a path which hasn’t been walked for a long time. Your footsteps echo as you go forward, dust billows behind you, and cobwebs snatch at your face like ghostly fingers. You see movement ahead, you slow your pace in trepidation, yet you know you must continue.

    Two figures appear in the dark, shadowy and sinister. As you approach, you notice that one figure is cowering low to the floor, hands raised as a shield, to protect itself from the words spouting from the other. The figure doing the talking is tall, and menacing. It has no face, yet words keep coming from the place where its mouth should be. You hear it calling the quivering figure weak; telling it that it is worthless, stupid, and unloved. It spews out nothing but hatred, every vile insult sparks something inside you, and you break into a run determined to protect the whimpering figure on the floor.

    As you get closer, you hear more of the bile; you see clearly the figure on the floor. Realisation washes over you as you see that the frightened figure is yourself. You are naked, vulnerable, and uncomfortable. You hear what is being shouted by the taller figure, and realise it’s every worry, every self-doubting moment you have ever had. You stop, and realise the figure is the part of your brain which feeds all of your self-doubt, your fears, and your anxiety. You stare at the figure, and notice that as you do, it begins to become smaller. The realisation that it is a manifestation of your fears rather than an entity which can cause harm makes it seem less frightening.

    You stand and watch, listening to the figure and realising that although it may say things which are hurtful, you can choose how you react to them. You approach your trembling self, and hold out a hand. It places its hand into yours, and you stand united against the negative thoughts and feelings. Together you watch the figure twisted in its hatred, and choose to let the words wash over you and away. In the same way that no two drops of water are the same in a waterfall, no two thoughts are the same, and they will pass quickly. The figure continued to shrink, and as it did, the house began to fill with light. The corridor widened, and the cobwebs vanished. Warmth spreads throughout the house and you walk back towards the open front door. As you look back, you see yourself sat peacefully in the warm light, and you know you are free; you finally feel at home in your own mind.

  • Journey

    There was once a man who was walking with a heavy heart. He didn’t know where his final destination lay, all he knew was he just had to keep walking. The way was long and treacherous, yet the man kept walking until he came to a forest.


    The trees were tall and plentiful. The canopy was dense, the top of each tree entwined with its neighbour, trapping the sunlight, not allowing it to penetrate through to the floor. The bushes and other flora on the forest floor were brown, dry, dead. The lack of sunlight had prevented photosynthesis, and the thick roots of the trees starved them of water. The dead tendrils had knitted together with dead branches, creating a web of thorns which bit at his legs. The man knew that he had to keep on walking. He winced as each thorn pierced his skin, his back jarred as he tripped on the tangled carpet of twigs and vines, but he continued on his path.


    The man finally came to the edge of the forest and entered a swamp. The stagnant water was waist height and green with algae. The canopy was sparse in the swamp, and a flood of brilliant sunshine beat down upon the man. It was warm, but that horrible sticky warm you only get in highly humid air. The man kept on walking, his feet sinking into the mud at the bottom of the swamp, his movements creating a vacuum pressure which increased the amount of effort it took for him to move. The man shared the swamp with alligators and snakes, each one he saw was seemingly bigger than the last. When he was nearing the bank of the swamp, a particularly large alligator started swimming towards him, opening its cavernous jaws. The man sped up, fighting with the mud for his ability to run. He shouldn’t have made it to the bank, the alligator outmatched him in both speed and strength, yet the man’s steadfast determination to reach his unknown destination helped him outrun the alligator against all odds.


    The bank of the swamp led to a lush, green plain which was covered in the most beautiful wild-flowers. It was like a carpet of greens and purples and gold, both visually and by the way it felt underfoot. The sun was still shining, and there was little cloud cover so as the man walked across the plain, his saturated clothes began to dry. The plain, by its very nature, was flat and easy to navigate. The warmth from the sun was pleasant, there were no obstacles in the man’s way; the journey was finally straightforward. Yet the man’s heart was still heavy. He recognised that he was walking a path that many would love to travel upon, however he had no one to share the beauty of this place with, you can’t revel in anything with a heavy heart, and so the man kept on walking, knowing he hadn’t yet reached his destination.


    He reached the end of the plain and was faced with a mountain. It was so high, the summit was hidden behind a thick blanket of cloud. The man started to climb; hand, over foot, over hand, over foot. His legs ached and his arms were tired, still he kept on climbing. There were very few footholds, and the man was negotiating a route which skirted a precipitous drop. The man had climbed so high he entered the cloud. The air was cold, damp and thick. The water droplets soaked through his clothes and chilled him to his core, he was physically and mentally exhausted but continued on his journey. As he neared the peak, the man reached for a large boulder as a means of hauling himself to the top of the mountain. The man grabbed onto the boulder, shifted his weight in order to find higher footholds, and the boulder fell. The man was certain he was going to fall to his death, when a hand appeared through the dense cloud cover and grabbed onto him. The hand was small and didn’t look particularly strong, yet it pulled and pulled at the man with all its might. Inch by inch the man was pulled up the precipice until, finally, he was pulled to the safety of the summit.


    When the man realised he was safe, he looked up to see his saviour, the mysterious owner of the hand. He smiled when he saw her face, and knew he had reached his destination.