Category Archives: pupils

Father, please listen. I feel trapped in a cave, in chains. I want to be free. I want some wishes – one is fine. Please give  me a chance. Don’t hurt me! I can wish. I’m not a monster. I have a heart and I’m not what you think I am; I’m more. Our shack you call home is a prison: you never let me out at all. Although you feed me and you give me a place to live, I would rather lie on the streets than get whacked, punched and shouted at.

If I had a wish, I would wish to be another person. You treat me like rubbish. You shouldn’t be a father. Mum would have been better than you. Anyone would. I wish for a proper face so no-one would make fun of me or call me names because I would be normal. If I was normal, no-one would complain. I would make things different in my new body. I would not isolated; I would be free. I want to break free!

Sitting beside the ancient table, a small boy could just be made out with a knife and wood in his hands. Twisted and misshapen, his small body shivered in the cold night air. Lying on the table, beside the rather grotesque figure, were three intricate wooden carvings: a woman, a boy and a man. On his partially bald head was an old, peaked hat. Below his hat was a large, bulbous growth, which closed his left eye. His nose dominated his face but irregular nostrils made it hard for the ‘little freak’ to breathe.

Although his face and most of his body was hideous, the boy’s hands were perfect. Careful as ever, his gentle fingers let the knife slip along the beech wood carving a baby in a crib to complete his beautiful collection. Despite the pouring rain outside, he was calm – nothing like the dreadful posters on the trees outside.

The thunder crackled ominously as the rain lashed down with great force. Trees swayed side to side with the help of the mighty push of the intense wind. In the centre of the dark, stormy forest glowed a weak, misty light. It looked so lonely and sad. The sombre light was coming from a battered and dull caravan. With the strength of the storm, the dirty, wooden caravan rocked violently along with the trees surrounding it.

With windows so dusty it was impossible to see through to wood which was rotten, this caravan looked older than you could imagine. The door-handle was just clinging onto the door. A wheel was missing making the caravan sway slowly, but dangerously, from side to side. There was a tiny hole in the roof and a bucket sat in the corner, catching the wet drops of rain. Wallpaper was slowly peeling off the damp walls of the cramped vehicle. Surely, no human being could possibly be living in such a place?

The lightning crashed down like small meteors. Swaying dangerously, the trees cracked together in the strong wind. The small light (the only one for miles) of the caravan stood out in the pouring rain, vibrating and shaking under its curse. The black wall surrounding the shack of a house was dripping as if it had jumped into a swimming pool.

Rotting from its age, the wood on the balcony was rocking back and forth like a haunted swing. The once beautiful home now had paint chipped off and wet from the rage of God’s weather. The only window on the caravan was cracked and grimy, letting out the smallest of light. A cage of death surrounded the caravan, letting no happiness out… or in…