1. Write out all 50 US states, then alphabetise them.
2. Read a good book in one sitting.
3. Watch your entire DVD collection.
4. Make a grilled cheese sandwich.
5. Write a novel.
6. Invent a town and all the people in it.
7. Write book reports on all the Dr. Seuss stories.
8. Play solitaire and win.
9. Play Scrabble against yourself... and win.
10. Try on every piece of clothing in your wardrobe.
11. Draw a picture of how you perceieve God.
12. Read a newspaper cover-to-cover.
13. Sketch wedding-dress designs.
14. Read the dictionary.
15. Write a script for a radio show.
16. plant an apple core in your back yard.
17. Memorise The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe.
18. Recite poetry to no one in particular.
19. Try to name every country in the world.
20. Watch every Friends episode, series 1-10, in immediate succession.
21. Write a will.
22. Learn to play the piano.
23. Compose a piece of music.
24. Design a product for the future.
25. Re-cast movies.
26. Draw a self-portrait without using a mirror.
27. Design tiered wedding cakes.
28. Write love letters to everyone you know.
29. Play MadLibs.
30. Rename your family and friends.
31. Design a third sex.
32. Write puns.
33. Write an encyclopedia of insanity.
34. Bake 125 muffins.
35. Draw moustaches, beards and funny hairstyles on all the people in every newspaper and magazine you own.
36. Listen to 5 different songs at the same time.
37. Make a music video.
38. Organise the photos on your computer.
39. Make birthday cards for every upcoming birthday in the next year.
40. Write an episode of a bad soap opera.
41. Watch an episode of a bad soap opera.
42. Walk west into the setting sun until you reach the Horizon.
43. Have an AIM conversation with yourself.
44. Befriend the AIM and MSN robots.
45. Absail down the side of your house using strips of bedsheet tied together.
46. Dance naked in the middle of the road.
47. Crack a coconut open by throwing it really hard.
48. Make prank calls.
49. Create a patchwork quilt.
50. Drive/cycle to a beach and hunt for seaglass.
51. Write your own jokes.
52. Make a list of 52 things to do when you're bored.
Have fun next time you have nothing to do!
All the best,
Katie J.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Friday, 25 January 2008
CHERUB Fan Fiction: Part Three
Zara drove Serena across campus in a golf buggy and they stopped outside a building with a flat roof made of sequoia logs that were so large they looked more like entire tree trunks than anything else. The area around it was a gravel garden and a pond with patches of duckweed filmed over the surface. She could see catfish and goldfish flitting through the water in and out of her vision.
“This is our new Japanese dojo. Well, it’s not really new, it’s about five years old, but it’s the newest of the three. A dojo is a training hall for martial arts. The literal meaning in Japanese is ‘place of the Way’. I never quite figured out why that has anything to do with people kicking each other in the arse every few minutes.”
They entered through a set of double-doors and into the large hall. Eighteen kids were sparring in pairs, wearing white karate pyjamas with black belts. In the corner closest to Serena a pretty, Japanese girl with straight black hair tied into a ponytail was straddling a muscular, blonde haired boy who had been forced onto his front, with her knees pinned to his sides and his arms twisted into a painful lock between his shoulder blades. As they passed this pair, the girl bent forward and hissed into the boy’s ear.
“You cheating, lying, son of a whore. Scum of the earth…” and then, catching Serena’s eye,
“What are you looking at?”
Zara led her into a smaller room with a floor made up of wiry, blue matting. A girl with a long blonde ponytail and a black karate belt was doing stretches at the back, with her back arched, bending forwards.
“Take your shoes and socks off,” Zara instructed. “Have you ever taken self-defence classes before?”
“Yeah,” Serena replied, “but it was only basic street defence; nothing as serious as judo or karate.”
“This is Alison,” Zara told her, and as the girl stood up, Serena recognized her as one of the twins she had seen this morning; the one who had helped her by the lift. “She’s going to spar with you.”
Alison walked over and pressed her hands together, bending forward in a bow that she has seen many times in movies and on TV. She was shorter, skinnier, and altogether significantly smaller than Serena, who felt that this might be a huge advantage for her during a fight. And besides, Serena had been in countless fights at school and out of school and had learnt to be utterly ruthless. On the other hand, this girl, with her bright blue eyes and little-girl smile, just looked sweet.
“Here are the rules,” Zara warned. “The first person to get five submissions wins. You can submit by speaking or by tapping your hand on the mat. Both of you can withdraw from the bout at any time. You can do anything whatsoever to get a submission except eye gouging. Understand?”
Both girls nodded, and Zara handed them gum shields. The girls stood two metres apart from one another in the centre of the room. Alison looked like the kind of girl who, when she was younger, cried over people killing spiders; the sweet, naïve little kid who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Fight,” Zara shouted from the corner.
Before she could move even a millimetre, Alison had jabbed two fingers into the side of her left breast. Distracted, Serena clutched at it in pain, and the innocent little girl hooked a foot around her ankles and tipped her onto the mat. Alison flipped her over onto her front and dragged a long, sharp fingernail through the flesh in her opponent’s back, deep enough to draw blood, twisting Serena’s arms into what could have become a full Nelson if she hadn’t, at that point, yelled, “I submit!” through her gum shield.
Alison immediately released her and stood up, cracking her neck from side to side. Her opponent scrambled up and faced her off.
Serena was prepared for this round, though. When the start signal came, she lunged forward speedily and knocked her over clumsily, straddling her waist with both hands around her neck. Alison narrowed her eyes and gripped Serena’s wrists, forcing them away with exceptional strength. She then pressed her thumb into her opponent’s palm, and Serena buckled, collapsing onto her knees helplessly, as Alison stood and towered over her with flames in her eyes. She tried to move, but for some reason that thumb was controlling her entire body.
“Submit,” Alison growled, “Or I swear to God your hand is going to be broken in so many places you won’t even be able to count to five anymore.”
“I submit,” she gasped, and as the menacing figure released her she could sense a vehement anger radiating from her opponent that had not been present before.
“Are you sure you want to carry on?” Zara asked, warily. Pride gripped hold of Serena and shook her. Don’t give up. If you give up now you’ll have to stay in Luton forever.
The girls squared up for a third time, and the fiery anger that blazed in the little girl’s eyes was threatening, to say the least.
This time Serena didn’t even see her. She didn’t see that upwards-facing palm as it smashed into her nose, spraying what seemed to her like a pint of blood onto the mat. She didn’t see the tiny, powerful fist or the fury in her opponent’s face. All she saw was a flash of pale flesh, and then she felt something hit her stomach at an upwards angle. It was this, perhaps, that caused her to collapse onto her knees and vomit all over the floor.
“I submit,” she coughed, retching again, staring dizzily at the mixture of blood and sick on the blue matting. “I submit, I give up, I withdraw, I-” She retched once more, but didn’t get up. She stayed on all fours until she felt a breeze brush past her ear and hear a soft voice whisper to her.
“Good fight, bitch.” And then the door to the room slammed shut. Zara bent and helped the poor girl to her feet.
* * *
Serena felt like she might be sick again as she tried to focus her eyes on the test that sat before her on the wooden exam desk. She had pieces of tissue clogged up each nostril, her clothes were a mess, she reeked of the stench that comes with blood and vomit, and she was already considering giving up.
“Are you alright, kid?” Zara asked, her forehead wrinkled with sympathy. Serena glared at her without a word. The Chairwoman shook her head. “Right, that was a stupid question. So, um… Simple intelligence test. A mix of verbal and mathematical skills. Forty-five minutes starting now.”
As she worked her way through the paper, the questions got harder and she struggled especially on the mathematical problems, but the verbal were easy for her. The pain that soared through her entire body and the pre-retch feeling she got every few moments were no help either and after forty-five minutes she still had an entire page left.
“What next?” she asked Zara warily. The Chairwoman grinned evilly.
“Next? Oh, you won’t like this one. It’s excruciating. Some students call it the horrors of CHERUB life. But you only have to do it once a day. We call it lunch.”
* * *
Serena ate lunch alone, in a minuscule box room connecting to Zara Asker’s office. The door was locked throughout her meal, but as soon as the tray was set down in front of her, she realised she was ravenous, and ate with vigour. She had been given spaghetti Bolognese and broccoli with chocolate mousse for pudding and a bottle of water to quench her thirst.
She was immoderately grateful that the food before her was something she was willing to eat, as opposed to something like tomato soup, which, she felt, even in her hungriest, most exhausted state, she wouldn’t touch.
After eating, she felt stronger and more alert than she had been previously that morning. With a fresh burst of confidence, she stood, ready to face the last three tests.
* * *
“Do you like chicken, Serena?” Zara asked, folding her hands in her lap.
“I guess,” Serena replied, lowering her eyes.
They were in Zara’s office once more, and presently they sat facing each other over the mahogany desk. Between them, on its surface, stood a wire cage, and inside it, a large, plump chicken stood, nibbling on the mesh. Every few moments the ignorant bird shook its feathers; the mix of russet and auburn undulating down its body with grace.
“Would you like to eat this chicken?” the Chairwoman offered, indifferently.
Serena raised an eyebrow.
“It’s alive.”
I have eyes, love. I can see it’s alive. Would you like to kill it?”
The teenager considered a moment. “No.”
“No?” Zara seemed surprised. “Why ever not?”
“Because I am not a trained shohet, and therefore if I kill this chicken, and there’s no telling whether I’ve cut it in the right place or not. See?”
“Well, you wouldn’t be cutting it. You’d be stabbing it. A clear shot at the neck should sever the main artery and kill it within thirty seconds.”
“But if I don’t sever the main artery the poor creature is going to die a slow, painful, and utterly meaningless death.”
“Quite true.”
“Then I’m sorry, but I’m not going to kill the chicken.”
“I thought you wanted to be a CHERUB agent.”
“I do, but…”
“Then kill the chicken.”
“I can’t, please-”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I-”
“Just kill the chicken, Serena.”
“Please don’t make me…” She could feel hot anger rising in her chest.
“Just kill it.”
“No! I’m- no, no, no, no…”
“For God’s sake, Serena, just kill the Goddamn chicken.”
“No! Look, Zara, my religion is important to me, and if I have to sacrifice that in order to work for CHERUB, then I’m not sure I want to.” Her eyes burnt and she felt her throat tighten. Zara frowned at her.
“Well, then. On to the next test.”
* * *
Serena stopped stressing over the poor little poultry product and what would happen to it when she sat the colossal wooden obstacle. It must have been at least fifty metres high in the air, and she quaked in her boots with the fear that had suddenly spread through her entire body. Perhaps it was only in her mind, but she was certain she could hear the squawk of a crow high up in the thick canopy. She could visualise this crow swooping down to the forest floor to scavenge at the mangled bodies of agents that had failed to complete the obstacle.
The moment this thought entered her mind she gave an involuntary moan in her throat and pressed her eyelids shut, shaking her head as if to free that thought from her memory.
Serena turned to see two people jogging across the field in her direction. They were of different sexes, she saw as their features became more apparent as they moved closer, but both were fit, their leg muscles clearly defined below the rim of their grey sport shorts that cut off at the knee. When they reached the spot where she was standing with the Chairwoman, neither one was gasping for breath, as she most definitely would have done after running the length of several football fields. They were introduced as Michael and Gabrielle, and Serena knew immediately that they were somewhat of an item. The dizzy way they looked at each other- it was sickening.
Sandwiched between the two older CHERUB agents, Serena began the long, unsteady climb up a rope ladder. She had no fear in her at this point; heights had never really bothered her, it was just the vertigo that made her stomach lurch that made her feel sick. The climb stopped abruptly about seven metres up, and a long, vertical metal pole stretched over to the base of another ladder. Michael turned to face the twelve-year-old with a friendly smile.
“Don’t fret, kid. Just keep looking up and you’ll be fine.”
Facing forwards, he gripped the pole with two muscular arms and let the rest of his body drop. He hung there for a moment, then swung his legs up with a grunt of effort and began to move mechanically across the pole, hand over hand, until he reached the other side and beckoned for the youngster to follow.
With his example in mind, she wrapped her palms around the pole and pushed her legs up and around it, then began to shimmy across. It was an exhilarating feeling, and just as she had begun to enjoy herself, she reached Michael and the rope ladder at the other end. Gabrielle joined them a few minutes later, and the group promptly began the ascent up the second, much shorter, ladder.
This time, when they halted, it was only to prepare for a metre jump between two narrow wooden planks. For the first time since beginning the obstacle, Serena looked down. The vertigo was not as bad as she had anticipated, but a new piece of information had entered her mind in the split-second she had spent staring down at the field far below. There were no safety mats to catch her if she fell. If she did fall, it would most likely be to a very painful failure. Nevertheless, she jumped. There were three more jumps like this, each further apart than the last, and then another climb up a rope ladder.
Now twenty metres above the field, Serena’s vertigo intensified greatly, but she raised her chin to keep the ground away from her line of vision and, after some encouragement from Gabrielle, followed Michael as he leapt easily across the now one-and-a-half-metre gap between the slippery planks.
Shivering in the air under the light drizzle that had begun to peck at her skin, Serena was led to a balcony with a hand rail on either side, and looked down. A narrow plank was attached to the front, and it would be a steep journey down. Where the plank ended, a long piece of rope swung in the air with a knot at its base, about three metres from the ground. Below it an unpleasant-looking swamp loomed. Michael took a run up and gave the plank an uncontrolled walk down in five steps. He wrapped his legs around the rope and swung forwards. After a few moments, he released the rope and sailed forwards, releasing it at exactly the right moment so as not to land himself knee deep in icy swamp water, but so that he didn’t shatter his kneecaps either. He landed softly on the ground a few centimetres from the water’s edge and rolled forwards, then brought himself to his feet and waved.
“So… I do this and that’s it?” Serena stuttered, cracking her knuckles nervously.
“Sure. But take a run up and, uh…” she grinned, slapping the youngster on the shoulder. “Don’t fall, okay?”
“That’s comforting,” Serena hissed sardonically, before running forwards and power-walking an uneasy five steps down the shuddering plank. The rope looked sturdy enough, but she gave a hearty tug on it to make sure; she wasn’t exactly the most light-weight person on the planet. She exhaled deeply, wrapped her legs around the rope, and swung herself forward. As she soared through the freezing drizzle, she realised she should have timed this better. Measuring vaguely how far she needed to be from the ground, she jumped just after the peak of her flight, splashing clumsily into the shallows of the swamp. Unfortunately, the boots weren’t waterproof, and her feet and ankles were soaked with murky water.
* * *
For many of the twelve years she had been in existence, Serena had looked cynically upon those who had irrational fears of things like heights, or spiders, or mice, but for the last nine years, no one knew that she had a deep, seemingly insuperable fear of swimming. When she was seven, her mother had asked her if she had any desire to learn to swim, and had accepted her refusal without much argument. She had conveniently left her bathing suit at home every time the school insisted on taking her year four class to the local pool, and since her father had disappeared before her second birthday, he too had little input to her swimming abilities.
In the twelve years she had spent living on Planet Earth, she had avoided it. And yet, here she stood, at the edge of the large, rectangular swimming pool, fully dressed in her now filthy CHERUB uniform. Her hands trembled with fear and memory. She curled them into fists and held them still.
“It’s simple,” Zara explained. “Dive in, rescue the drowning brick, and swim to the other end.”
Serena swallowed and nodded, holding her breath in her lungs. She curled her toes over the edge and bent her knees, preparing for the jump. She splashed clumsily into the water. She found herself sinking slowly, and scrabbled for the ladder. She pulled herself out, gasping for breath and sobbing uncontrollably.
“I can’t do- no, I can’t- I- oh, please… No, I can’t, I can’t , I can’t- Don’t- Can’t- No…” she began to hyperventilate, drawing in breath sharply and letting it out in choked gulps. Zara handed her a brown paper bag with a concerned frown upon her face; Serena held the bag over her mouth and inhaled, sobbing uncontrollably. She exhaled slowly, and inhaled again.
“Serena, calm down. Deep breaths. Come on. You’re okay. Breathe deep…”
* * *
“So, do you think we should offer you a place here?”
Serena was, once again, sitting across from the Chairwoman in the comfortable leather armchairs by the fire; she was exhausted, she felt sick, and from her body a retch-worthy stench was radiating strongly. She raised an eyebrow.
“You tell me.”
“Well, you did okay on the first test.”
“She steamrollered me.”
Zara chuckled. “Alison is fourteen- she’s one of the best martial artists at CHERUB. You would have passed if you’d won, but there was maybe a one in a million chance of that happening. You retired when you realised you wouldn’t be able to defeat her, and you didn’t once complain about your injuries or ask to recover before the next test.”
“Well, she was puny but she was obviously going to win.”
“Right. You scored superbly on the intelligence test. Most of our new recruits have at least two or three pages left before they finish, and you did even better than that. You scored exceptionally on the verbal questions, and decently on the mathematical.”
“So, how did I do on the next one?”
“Hm…” Zara thought for a moment. “Well, you failed, but by a hair.”
Serena held her face in her hands.
“I should have killed the chicken,” she mumbled.
“No. You shouldn’t have. The chicken is a test of your moral courage. You would have gotten a high pass if you had killed the chicken immediately, or if you say you’re opposed to killing animals or eating them and refuse to kill it.”
“But I-”
“Yes, Serena. You refused. But you got upset and begged me not to make you. You performed quite poorly. The fourth test, however, was excellent. You didn’t dither, you weren’t scared, or if you were, you didn’t show it. I think you are the first new recruit in my time who hasn’t freaked with fear on that obstacle.”
“Heights don’t really scare me.”
“That’s good. That’s really good. So, the fifth test.”
“I can’t swim, Zara. And that was the deep end; I should have told you that.”
“We knew.”
“What? You knew? Then why did you make me go in there?!”
“We didn’t. If you’d battled through and recovered the brick, you would have gotten full marks. If you jumped in and had to be rescued, it would have shown you had poor judgement and you would have failed.”
“So how did I do?”
“Well, we were hoping you would decide that the task was beyond your swimming abilities and that you would back away. But you didn’t need rescuing either. You took matters into your own hands and rescued yourself. It shows you have poor judgement, but it also shows that you are able to get yourself out of sticky situations like that. So, I’m giving you a low pass. In conclusion,” Zara sighed, “I’m happy to offer you a place at CHERUB. If you need a few days to decide, we can send you back to Luton, or, if you’re sure, you can stay here.”
“No, I’m sure. My mother died last year, I haven’t seen my father since I was in nappies, and I’m never going to see my sister again. I have no life in Luton. I’m staying.”
“Okay,” the Chairwoman smiled. “We’ll find you a room, and we’ll send someone to get your stuff from the foster home you were in. Oh, and you’ll have to choose a name.”
“A name?”
“Yes, a name. A new name. Nothing too unusual and it has to match your ethnicity. So you can’t name yourself something like Serena Patel or Serena Adeonojobi.”
The exhausted recruit thought for a moment, then smiled.
TO BE CONTINUED...
“This is our new Japanese dojo. Well, it’s not really new, it’s about five years old, but it’s the newest of the three. A dojo is a training hall for martial arts. The literal meaning in Japanese is ‘place of the Way’. I never quite figured out why that has anything to do with people kicking each other in the arse every few minutes.”
They entered through a set of double-doors and into the large hall. Eighteen kids were sparring in pairs, wearing white karate pyjamas with black belts. In the corner closest to Serena a pretty, Japanese girl with straight black hair tied into a ponytail was straddling a muscular, blonde haired boy who had been forced onto his front, with her knees pinned to his sides and his arms twisted into a painful lock between his shoulder blades. As they passed this pair, the girl bent forward and hissed into the boy’s ear.
“You cheating, lying, son of a whore. Scum of the earth…” and then, catching Serena’s eye,
“What are you looking at?”
Zara led her into a smaller room with a floor made up of wiry, blue matting. A girl with a long blonde ponytail and a black karate belt was doing stretches at the back, with her back arched, bending forwards.
“Take your shoes and socks off,” Zara instructed. “Have you ever taken self-defence classes before?”
“Yeah,” Serena replied, “but it was only basic street defence; nothing as serious as judo or karate.”
“This is Alison,” Zara told her, and as the girl stood up, Serena recognized her as one of the twins she had seen this morning; the one who had helped her by the lift. “She’s going to spar with you.”
Alison walked over and pressed her hands together, bending forward in a bow that she has seen many times in movies and on TV. She was shorter, skinnier, and altogether significantly smaller than Serena, who felt that this might be a huge advantage for her during a fight. And besides, Serena had been in countless fights at school and out of school and had learnt to be utterly ruthless. On the other hand, this girl, with her bright blue eyes and little-girl smile, just looked sweet.
“Here are the rules,” Zara warned. “The first person to get five submissions wins. You can submit by speaking or by tapping your hand on the mat. Both of you can withdraw from the bout at any time. You can do anything whatsoever to get a submission except eye gouging. Understand?”
Both girls nodded, and Zara handed them gum shields. The girls stood two metres apart from one another in the centre of the room. Alison looked like the kind of girl who, when she was younger, cried over people killing spiders; the sweet, naïve little kid who wouldn’t hurt a fly.
“Fight,” Zara shouted from the corner.
Before she could move even a millimetre, Alison had jabbed two fingers into the side of her left breast. Distracted, Serena clutched at it in pain, and the innocent little girl hooked a foot around her ankles and tipped her onto the mat. Alison flipped her over onto her front and dragged a long, sharp fingernail through the flesh in her opponent’s back, deep enough to draw blood, twisting Serena’s arms into what could have become a full Nelson if she hadn’t, at that point, yelled, “I submit!” through her gum shield.
Alison immediately released her and stood up, cracking her neck from side to side. Her opponent scrambled up and faced her off.
Serena was prepared for this round, though. When the start signal came, she lunged forward speedily and knocked her over clumsily, straddling her waist with both hands around her neck. Alison narrowed her eyes and gripped Serena’s wrists, forcing them away with exceptional strength. She then pressed her thumb into her opponent’s palm, and Serena buckled, collapsing onto her knees helplessly, as Alison stood and towered over her with flames in her eyes. She tried to move, but for some reason that thumb was controlling her entire body.
“Submit,” Alison growled, “Or I swear to God your hand is going to be broken in so many places you won’t even be able to count to five anymore.”
“I submit,” she gasped, and as the menacing figure released her she could sense a vehement anger radiating from her opponent that had not been present before.
“Are you sure you want to carry on?” Zara asked, warily. Pride gripped hold of Serena and shook her. Don’t give up. If you give up now you’ll have to stay in Luton forever.
The girls squared up for a third time, and the fiery anger that blazed in the little girl’s eyes was threatening, to say the least.
This time Serena didn’t even see her. She didn’t see that upwards-facing palm as it smashed into her nose, spraying what seemed to her like a pint of blood onto the mat. She didn’t see the tiny, powerful fist or the fury in her opponent’s face. All she saw was a flash of pale flesh, and then she felt something hit her stomach at an upwards angle. It was this, perhaps, that caused her to collapse onto her knees and vomit all over the floor.
“I submit,” she coughed, retching again, staring dizzily at the mixture of blood and sick on the blue matting. “I submit, I give up, I withdraw, I-” She retched once more, but didn’t get up. She stayed on all fours until she felt a breeze brush past her ear and hear a soft voice whisper to her.
“Good fight, bitch.” And then the door to the room slammed shut. Zara bent and helped the poor girl to her feet.
* * *
Serena felt like she might be sick again as she tried to focus her eyes on the test that sat before her on the wooden exam desk. She had pieces of tissue clogged up each nostril, her clothes were a mess, she reeked of the stench that comes with blood and vomit, and she was already considering giving up.
“Are you alright, kid?” Zara asked, her forehead wrinkled with sympathy. Serena glared at her without a word. The Chairwoman shook her head. “Right, that was a stupid question. So, um… Simple intelligence test. A mix of verbal and mathematical skills. Forty-five minutes starting now.”
As she worked her way through the paper, the questions got harder and she struggled especially on the mathematical problems, but the verbal were easy for her. The pain that soared through her entire body and the pre-retch feeling she got every few moments were no help either and after forty-five minutes she still had an entire page left.
“What next?” she asked Zara warily. The Chairwoman grinned evilly.
“Next? Oh, you won’t like this one. It’s excruciating. Some students call it the horrors of CHERUB life. But you only have to do it once a day. We call it lunch.”
* * *
Serena ate lunch alone, in a minuscule box room connecting to Zara Asker’s office. The door was locked throughout her meal, but as soon as the tray was set down in front of her, she realised she was ravenous, and ate with vigour. She had been given spaghetti Bolognese and broccoli with chocolate mousse for pudding and a bottle of water to quench her thirst.
She was immoderately grateful that the food before her was something she was willing to eat, as opposed to something like tomato soup, which, she felt, even in her hungriest, most exhausted state, she wouldn’t touch.
After eating, she felt stronger and more alert than she had been previously that morning. With a fresh burst of confidence, she stood, ready to face the last three tests.
* * *
“Do you like chicken, Serena?” Zara asked, folding her hands in her lap.
“I guess,” Serena replied, lowering her eyes.
They were in Zara’s office once more, and presently they sat facing each other over the mahogany desk. Between them, on its surface, stood a wire cage, and inside it, a large, plump chicken stood, nibbling on the mesh. Every few moments the ignorant bird shook its feathers; the mix of russet and auburn undulating down its body with grace.
“Would you like to eat this chicken?” the Chairwoman offered, indifferently.
Serena raised an eyebrow.
“It’s alive.”
I have eyes, love. I can see it’s alive. Would you like to kill it?”
The teenager considered a moment. “No.”
“No?” Zara seemed surprised. “Why ever not?”
“Because I am not a trained shohet, and therefore if I kill this chicken, and there’s no telling whether I’ve cut it in the right place or not. See?”
“Well, you wouldn’t be cutting it. You’d be stabbing it. A clear shot at the neck should sever the main artery and kill it within thirty seconds.”
“But if I don’t sever the main artery the poor creature is going to die a slow, painful, and utterly meaningless death.”
“Quite true.”
“Then I’m sorry, but I’m not going to kill the chicken.”
“I thought you wanted to be a CHERUB agent.”
“I do, but…”
“Then kill the chicken.”
“I can’t, please-”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I-”
“Just kill the chicken, Serena.”
“Please don’t make me…” She could feel hot anger rising in her chest.
“Just kill it.”
“No! I’m- no, no, no, no…”
“For God’s sake, Serena, just kill the Goddamn chicken.”
“No! Look, Zara, my religion is important to me, and if I have to sacrifice that in order to work for CHERUB, then I’m not sure I want to.” Her eyes burnt and she felt her throat tighten. Zara frowned at her.
“Well, then. On to the next test.”
* * *
Serena stopped stressing over the poor little poultry product and what would happen to it when she sat the colossal wooden obstacle. It must have been at least fifty metres high in the air, and she quaked in her boots with the fear that had suddenly spread through her entire body. Perhaps it was only in her mind, but she was certain she could hear the squawk of a crow high up in the thick canopy. She could visualise this crow swooping down to the forest floor to scavenge at the mangled bodies of agents that had failed to complete the obstacle.
The moment this thought entered her mind she gave an involuntary moan in her throat and pressed her eyelids shut, shaking her head as if to free that thought from her memory.
Serena turned to see two people jogging across the field in her direction. They were of different sexes, she saw as their features became more apparent as they moved closer, but both were fit, their leg muscles clearly defined below the rim of their grey sport shorts that cut off at the knee. When they reached the spot where she was standing with the Chairwoman, neither one was gasping for breath, as she most definitely would have done after running the length of several football fields. They were introduced as Michael and Gabrielle, and Serena knew immediately that they were somewhat of an item. The dizzy way they looked at each other- it was sickening.
Sandwiched between the two older CHERUB agents, Serena began the long, unsteady climb up a rope ladder. She had no fear in her at this point; heights had never really bothered her, it was just the vertigo that made her stomach lurch that made her feel sick. The climb stopped abruptly about seven metres up, and a long, vertical metal pole stretched over to the base of another ladder. Michael turned to face the twelve-year-old with a friendly smile.
“Don’t fret, kid. Just keep looking up and you’ll be fine.”
Facing forwards, he gripped the pole with two muscular arms and let the rest of his body drop. He hung there for a moment, then swung his legs up with a grunt of effort and began to move mechanically across the pole, hand over hand, until he reached the other side and beckoned for the youngster to follow.
With his example in mind, she wrapped her palms around the pole and pushed her legs up and around it, then began to shimmy across. It was an exhilarating feeling, and just as she had begun to enjoy herself, she reached Michael and the rope ladder at the other end. Gabrielle joined them a few minutes later, and the group promptly began the ascent up the second, much shorter, ladder.
This time, when they halted, it was only to prepare for a metre jump between two narrow wooden planks. For the first time since beginning the obstacle, Serena looked down. The vertigo was not as bad as she had anticipated, but a new piece of information had entered her mind in the split-second she had spent staring down at the field far below. There were no safety mats to catch her if she fell. If she did fall, it would most likely be to a very painful failure. Nevertheless, she jumped. There were three more jumps like this, each further apart than the last, and then another climb up a rope ladder.
Now twenty metres above the field, Serena’s vertigo intensified greatly, but she raised her chin to keep the ground away from her line of vision and, after some encouragement from Gabrielle, followed Michael as he leapt easily across the now one-and-a-half-metre gap between the slippery planks.
Shivering in the air under the light drizzle that had begun to peck at her skin, Serena was led to a balcony with a hand rail on either side, and looked down. A narrow plank was attached to the front, and it would be a steep journey down. Where the plank ended, a long piece of rope swung in the air with a knot at its base, about three metres from the ground. Below it an unpleasant-looking swamp loomed. Michael took a run up and gave the plank an uncontrolled walk down in five steps. He wrapped his legs around the rope and swung forwards. After a few moments, he released the rope and sailed forwards, releasing it at exactly the right moment so as not to land himself knee deep in icy swamp water, but so that he didn’t shatter his kneecaps either. He landed softly on the ground a few centimetres from the water’s edge and rolled forwards, then brought himself to his feet and waved.
“So… I do this and that’s it?” Serena stuttered, cracking her knuckles nervously.
“Sure. But take a run up and, uh…” she grinned, slapping the youngster on the shoulder. “Don’t fall, okay?”
“That’s comforting,” Serena hissed sardonically, before running forwards and power-walking an uneasy five steps down the shuddering plank. The rope looked sturdy enough, but she gave a hearty tug on it to make sure; she wasn’t exactly the most light-weight person on the planet. She exhaled deeply, wrapped her legs around the rope, and swung herself forward. As she soared through the freezing drizzle, she realised she should have timed this better. Measuring vaguely how far she needed to be from the ground, she jumped just after the peak of her flight, splashing clumsily into the shallows of the swamp. Unfortunately, the boots weren’t waterproof, and her feet and ankles were soaked with murky water.
* * *
For many of the twelve years she had been in existence, Serena had looked cynically upon those who had irrational fears of things like heights, or spiders, or mice, but for the last nine years, no one knew that she had a deep, seemingly insuperable fear of swimming. When she was seven, her mother had asked her if she had any desire to learn to swim, and had accepted her refusal without much argument. She had conveniently left her bathing suit at home every time the school insisted on taking her year four class to the local pool, and since her father had disappeared before her second birthday, he too had little input to her swimming abilities.
In the twelve years she had spent living on Planet Earth, she had avoided it. And yet, here she stood, at the edge of the large, rectangular swimming pool, fully dressed in her now filthy CHERUB uniform. Her hands trembled with fear and memory. She curled them into fists and held them still.
“It’s simple,” Zara explained. “Dive in, rescue the drowning brick, and swim to the other end.”
Serena swallowed and nodded, holding her breath in her lungs. She curled her toes over the edge and bent her knees, preparing for the jump. She splashed clumsily into the water. She found herself sinking slowly, and scrabbled for the ladder. She pulled herself out, gasping for breath and sobbing uncontrollably.
“I can’t do- no, I can’t- I- oh, please… No, I can’t, I can’t , I can’t- Don’t- Can’t- No…” she began to hyperventilate, drawing in breath sharply and letting it out in choked gulps. Zara handed her a brown paper bag with a concerned frown upon her face; Serena held the bag over her mouth and inhaled, sobbing uncontrollably. She exhaled slowly, and inhaled again.
“Serena, calm down. Deep breaths. Come on. You’re okay. Breathe deep…”
* * *
“So, do you think we should offer you a place here?”
Serena was, once again, sitting across from the Chairwoman in the comfortable leather armchairs by the fire; she was exhausted, she felt sick, and from her body a retch-worthy stench was radiating strongly. She raised an eyebrow.
“You tell me.”
“Well, you did okay on the first test.”
“She steamrollered me.”
Zara chuckled. “Alison is fourteen- she’s one of the best martial artists at CHERUB. You would have passed if you’d won, but there was maybe a one in a million chance of that happening. You retired when you realised you wouldn’t be able to defeat her, and you didn’t once complain about your injuries or ask to recover before the next test.”
“Well, she was puny but she was obviously going to win.”
“Right. You scored superbly on the intelligence test. Most of our new recruits have at least two or three pages left before they finish, and you did even better than that. You scored exceptionally on the verbal questions, and decently on the mathematical.”
“So, how did I do on the next one?”
“Hm…” Zara thought for a moment. “Well, you failed, but by a hair.”
Serena held her face in her hands.
“I should have killed the chicken,” she mumbled.
“No. You shouldn’t have. The chicken is a test of your moral courage. You would have gotten a high pass if you had killed the chicken immediately, or if you say you’re opposed to killing animals or eating them and refuse to kill it.”
“But I-”
“Yes, Serena. You refused. But you got upset and begged me not to make you. You performed quite poorly. The fourth test, however, was excellent. You didn’t dither, you weren’t scared, or if you were, you didn’t show it. I think you are the first new recruit in my time who hasn’t freaked with fear on that obstacle.”
“Heights don’t really scare me.”
“That’s good. That’s really good. So, the fifth test.”
“I can’t swim, Zara. And that was the deep end; I should have told you that.”
“We knew.”
“What? You knew? Then why did you make me go in there?!”
“We didn’t. If you’d battled through and recovered the brick, you would have gotten full marks. If you jumped in and had to be rescued, it would have shown you had poor judgement and you would have failed.”
“So how did I do?”
“Well, we were hoping you would decide that the task was beyond your swimming abilities and that you would back away. But you didn’t need rescuing either. You took matters into your own hands and rescued yourself. It shows you have poor judgement, but it also shows that you are able to get yourself out of sticky situations like that. So, I’m giving you a low pass. In conclusion,” Zara sighed, “I’m happy to offer you a place at CHERUB. If you need a few days to decide, we can send you back to Luton, or, if you’re sure, you can stay here.”
“No, I’m sure. My mother died last year, I haven’t seen my father since I was in nappies, and I’m never going to see my sister again. I have no life in Luton. I’m staying.”
“Okay,” the Chairwoman smiled. “We’ll find you a room, and we’ll send someone to get your stuff from the foster home you were in. Oh, and you’ll have to choose a name.”
“A name?”
“Yes, a name. A new name. Nothing too unusual and it has to match your ethnicity. So you can’t name yourself something like Serena Patel or Serena Adeonojobi.”
The exhausted recruit thought for a moment, then smiled.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Wednesday, 23 January 2008
Living in a Time Warp With My Best Friend's Dog and a Couple of Satsumas
I have a problem with insomnia pills
And an obsession with citrus fruits
My dysfunctional family syndrome
My best friend who knows everything and nothing all at once
My loud music and my bad taste
The words make sense to me
Even if they don't to you
Snoring
Day in, day out
Living with our problems and our secrets
Me not knowing anything
But knowing everything
Living with a potato
And citrus fruits
And snow days
And small cities
And no Ikea
Just me and the paw prints
So make my movie
About the dysfunctional teenager
With a bad history
And an obsession with citrus fruits
Who writes
Short poems
That don't end.
Poet's Note: I know that this poem doesn't seem to make sense, but it does, and there is no randomness in here. All the words have a purpose, even if you don't get it. There is an element of aberrance here for other poets, but for me, the poem is typical of my style. If you know me, you'll know this: I don't make sense- ever, at all, even if you beg.
And an obsession with citrus fruits
My dysfunctional family syndrome
My best friend who knows everything and nothing all at once
My loud music and my bad taste
The words make sense to me
Even if they don't to you
Snoring
Day in, day out
Living with our problems and our secrets
Me not knowing anything
But knowing everything
Living with a potato
And citrus fruits
And snow days
And small cities
And no Ikea
Just me and the paw prints
So make my movie
About the dysfunctional teenager
With a bad history
And an obsession with citrus fruits
Who writes
Short poems
That don't end.
Poet's Note: I know that this poem doesn't seem to make sense, but it does, and there is no randomness in here. All the words have a purpose, even if you don't get it. There is an element of aberrance here for other poets, but for me, the poem is typical of my style. If you know me, you'll know this: I don't make sense- ever, at all, even if you beg.
Sunday, 13 January 2008
CHERUB Fan Fiction: Part Two
Serena had stepped directly into a corridor that gave the impression of a pretentious boarding school. The walls, like the door of the room she had just vacated, were decorated simply with plain white wallpaper, and the floor of hardwood boards. The kids out here were all at the age of adolescence, and all of them were dressed in the same CHERUB uniform, but she was the sole individual whose t-shirt was orange; the others were all wearing grey or navy-blue shirts.
“Oi,” she called to a boy walking briskly in her direction. “Where do I-”
“Can’t talk to orange,” he said, without stopping.
Frowning, Serena stood awkwardly in the middle of the hall and looked both ways. There was a row of doors in either direction and large glass windows at each end. Still unsure, she set off to her right down the corridor. A set of blonde-haired, blue-eyes twin girls stood at this end, waiting for the lift, chattering animatedly in a language which sounded like it might be Japanese.
“Hey, where am I supposed to-” she began to ask, stopping in front of them.
“Can’t talk to orange,” one of them told her austerely.
“Can’t talk to orange,” the other grinned, but as the elevator doors slid apart, she beckoned for her to follow and held up one finger, indicating to her to exit the lift at the first floor.
“Cheers,” Serena mumbled, shuffling forward.
At the first floor, the doors opened up to a lavishly designed atrium, with a bronze sculpture in the centre of the winged baby on a globe, like the logo on the t-shirts. Serena merely glanced around it once, without thorough study of each intricate detail, and promptly made her way to a reception desk, behind which a young, pretty-looking woman was reading a paperback novel with her stripy-socked feet resting on the counter.
“Good morning, Serena,” she sighed in a bored voice, marking the place in her book with a Tesco Clubcard voucher. “Come with me.”
The woman led her through a set of doors to the right of the desk, and down a quieter corridor, with royal-blue carpeted floor and white-wallpapered walls with gold trim and pinewood doors set into pinewood frames dotted along on either side. Each door had a brass plaque set into it with a name engraved in capital letters and a title in smaller print engraved underneath. They stopped at a door that read ‘ZARA ASKER, Chairman’ and the woman knocked twice before wishing Serena luck and hurrying back down the hall and out of sight. She had to wait only a moment before she heard a soft, female voice speak from inside.
“Come in.”
Serena stepped into a large office with a deep, royal-red carpet and full height windows that brought in the golden sunlight. The walls were lined with leather-bound and hardback books that sat on dark, varnished oak shelves. A desk stood in front of the windows, with a pile of paperwork stacked precariously on its edge and a clumsily-painted mug of steaming coffee next to a half-eaten chocolate muffin sat beside it. In the front, right-hand corner of the desk was a framed photograph of a tall, good-looking man in his mid-thirties with a hoop in his ear and a baby girl with a tuft of brown hair sprouting from her scalp in his left arm. His right was looped around the shoulders of a pretty woman with chestnut brown hair and a small, pug-faced, blonde thing sitting on her knees with a stubborn expression.
The woman from the photo stood up from behind the desk and smiled patronizingly, holding out a hand fro Serena to shake. She regarded the hand doubtfully and did not take it, but instead taking a wary step backwards.
“Welcome to CHERUB campus, Serena,” said the woman, withdrawing the hand into a jeans pocket. “I am, as you can probably tell by that stupid plaque on the door, Zara Asker, the Chairman. Well, really it should be Chairwoman, but it’s not. Just call me Zara. Everyone does. Except my kids; they call me mum, of course, but that’s not the point. Anyway, um, have a seat,” she gestured to the red, leather-covered armchairs by the elaborately designed fireplace. Bright amber flames licked the marble edges, but the black grate in front of it restrained the fire and kept it from setting the wooden chairs alight. Zara seated herself in one of the chairs, but Serena was still apprehensive. She kept herself at what she considered a safe distance, and glared at the oddity sitting in front of her.
“It’s okay, Serena. You’re safe here,” Zara assured her, and something in her voice, or maybe it was her expression, that made Serena trust her, so that she too sat herself in front of the crackling fire.
“How did you bring me here?”
“You were drugged,” Zara replied simply. “The agent who recommended you popped a needle into your arm.”
“Who-”
“Serena, I would like to explain to you about CHERUB first, and then you can ask any questions, okay?”
“I figure if I say no then I’ll have this insatiable curiosity about it for the rest of my life, and I won’t be able to do anything about it, and anyone I tell will think I’m just some dumb kid trying to stir up trouble, so I’ll never know unless you tell me.”
“That’s a yes then?”
“How much more of a yes do you need?”
“Fantastic. So what are your first impressions of us?” Zara questioned eagerly.
“It’s miles nicer than my foster home was, I’ll tell you that much. But I still don’t get why I was sent away to boarding school. I don’t have parents to support me and this place looks pretty pricey.”
Zara laughed, revealing two rows of pearly whites, straight as a ruler and perfectly even. Serena guessed that she had most likely had braces when she was younger.
“I’m glad you approve,” the Chairwoman said, “We have three hundred and forty pupils; four years ago we only had two hundred and eighty. We have four swimming pools, six indoor tennis courts, an all-weather football field, five gymnasiums, a shooting range and two Astroturf pitches, to name but a few resources. We also have a school onsite, and because classes have ten pupils or fewer, you’ll find it easier to advance and concentrate in smaller groups. Ninety-six percent of our students proceed to top universities, and sixty-nine percent end up at Oxbridge. How would you feel about living here?”
Serena was stunned. It took her a few moments to reply.
“Um… It sounds like a great opportunity, and it’s great to be considered, but I’m not exactly the most intelligent person in the world.”
“Well, I’ve had a look through your school record. You’ve never once missed a day of school, except for bereavement, and you’ve received A’s for effort in all your classes. In the last three science tests you took, you earned ninety-five, ninety-one and ninety-six percent. In your last history quiz you got full marks, and you received a level 6a on your most recent English assessment.”
“Okay, so I know a few things. I’m crap at maths and geography-”
“Is that because you’re not smart enough or because you find it boring?”
“Well, let’s face it, geography’s not the most interesting class to study, and maths is really just numbers. I always get bored and end up drawing in those lessons.”
“What do you draw?”
“Mostly manga and animé. I like making superheroes.”
“Really?” asked, Zara, interested. “Have you ever thought of doing external Art classes?”
“What does this have to do with me going to CHERUB?”
“Oh, right, right. So, there are some criteria for new recruits here. Firstly, you must pass a series of entrance exams, and secondly, you have to sign a Silence Act and agree to be an agent for the British Intelligence.”
Serena looked at her blankly. This didn’t make any sense whatsoever. What did MI5 have to do with boarding school? “You what?”
“This isn’t a boarding school, Serena. CHERUB is a sector of the British Intelligence Service. We use children to go undercover where adults can’t. No one ever suspects that kids are spies.” Serena was still gawping, slack-jawed, at her.
“Spies,” she finally managed.
“Yes,” Zara replied simply, folding her hands in her lap.
“Kid spies.”
“Yes.”
“Kids who are spies that spy on people.”
“Yes.”
“So… kid spies.”
“Yes.”
It was too confusing, and far too difficult to attempt to process this information so early in the morning. Her stomach rumbled with hunger as she noticed the half-a-croissant still sitting on the desk.
“That’s… weird.”
“You may be the first potential agent I’ve ever interviewed who’s managed to grasp that fact so quickly. We used to have to use the example of the burglar and the-”
“Why me?”
“Pardon?”
“Why- why did you choose me?”
“Well, Serena, I would have thought that was obvious. You’re intelligent- and don’t bother denying it; you’re creative; you’re physically fit, you have a habit of getting into trouble; and you throw one hell of a right hook.”
“How do you know about that me punching Lauren?”
“Lauren Adams is one of our best agents. It was unfortunate that she lost her temper and whacked her brother over the head with a rounders bat, earning herself a recruitment mission as punishment, but there you go. She was the one who drugged you and called a CHERUB pool car to drive you here. I believe you knew her as Lauren Summers.”
“Lauren- Lauren is one of your people?” Serena asked, incredulously, her voice rising, the shock in her expression quite evident. “But- but- but she was my friend! I trusted her!”
“I’m sorry you’re upset,” said Zara, surprised, “but at least this way you’ll be able to remain friends with her without the hassle of having a long-distance friendship. That is, if you decide to take the entrance exams.”
“Have any agents ever been killed on the job?” Serena asked.
The expression on Zara’s face changed dramatically. Her smile slid away and disappeared.
“In the fifty-five years that CHERUB has been in operation, four youngsters have been killed on a mission. I’ve only been Chairman for about a year now, but so far… so far everyone’s in one piece.” She shook away tears and composed herself. “So, Serena, here’s the offer. If you want, you can take the entrance exam. There are five parts, so it’ll take the rest of the day to get through them. If you do well enough, we’ll offer you a place, and you can go back to West Luton Foster Home for a couple of days to make up your mind. What do you say?”
Serena thought for a moment.
“I think I’d have to be a nutcase to refuse.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
“Oi,” she called to a boy walking briskly in her direction. “Where do I-”
“Can’t talk to orange,” he said, without stopping.
Frowning, Serena stood awkwardly in the middle of the hall and looked both ways. There was a row of doors in either direction and large glass windows at each end. Still unsure, she set off to her right down the corridor. A set of blonde-haired, blue-eyes twin girls stood at this end, waiting for the lift, chattering animatedly in a language which sounded like it might be Japanese.
“Hey, where am I supposed to-” she began to ask, stopping in front of them.
“Can’t talk to orange,” one of them told her austerely.
“Can’t talk to orange,” the other grinned, but as the elevator doors slid apart, she beckoned for her to follow and held up one finger, indicating to her to exit the lift at the first floor.
“Cheers,” Serena mumbled, shuffling forward.
At the first floor, the doors opened up to a lavishly designed atrium, with a bronze sculpture in the centre of the winged baby on a globe, like the logo on the t-shirts. Serena merely glanced around it once, without thorough study of each intricate detail, and promptly made her way to a reception desk, behind which a young, pretty-looking woman was reading a paperback novel with her stripy-socked feet resting on the counter.
“Good morning, Serena,” she sighed in a bored voice, marking the place in her book with a Tesco Clubcard voucher. “Come with me.”
The woman led her through a set of doors to the right of the desk, and down a quieter corridor, with royal-blue carpeted floor and white-wallpapered walls with gold trim and pinewood doors set into pinewood frames dotted along on either side. Each door had a brass plaque set into it with a name engraved in capital letters and a title in smaller print engraved underneath. They stopped at a door that read ‘ZARA ASKER, Chairman’ and the woman knocked twice before wishing Serena luck and hurrying back down the hall and out of sight. She had to wait only a moment before she heard a soft, female voice speak from inside.
“Come in.”
Serena stepped into a large office with a deep, royal-red carpet and full height windows that brought in the golden sunlight. The walls were lined with leather-bound and hardback books that sat on dark, varnished oak shelves. A desk stood in front of the windows, with a pile of paperwork stacked precariously on its edge and a clumsily-painted mug of steaming coffee next to a half-eaten chocolate muffin sat beside it. In the front, right-hand corner of the desk was a framed photograph of a tall, good-looking man in his mid-thirties with a hoop in his ear and a baby girl with a tuft of brown hair sprouting from her scalp in his left arm. His right was looped around the shoulders of a pretty woman with chestnut brown hair and a small, pug-faced, blonde thing sitting on her knees with a stubborn expression.
The woman from the photo stood up from behind the desk and smiled patronizingly, holding out a hand fro Serena to shake. She regarded the hand doubtfully and did not take it, but instead taking a wary step backwards.
“Welcome to CHERUB campus, Serena,” said the woman, withdrawing the hand into a jeans pocket. “I am, as you can probably tell by that stupid plaque on the door, Zara Asker, the Chairman. Well, really it should be Chairwoman, but it’s not. Just call me Zara. Everyone does. Except my kids; they call me mum, of course, but that’s not the point. Anyway, um, have a seat,” she gestured to the red, leather-covered armchairs by the elaborately designed fireplace. Bright amber flames licked the marble edges, but the black grate in front of it restrained the fire and kept it from setting the wooden chairs alight. Zara seated herself in one of the chairs, but Serena was still apprehensive. She kept herself at what she considered a safe distance, and glared at the oddity sitting in front of her.
“It’s okay, Serena. You’re safe here,” Zara assured her, and something in her voice, or maybe it was her expression, that made Serena trust her, so that she too sat herself in front of the crackling fire.
“How did you bring me here?”
“You were drugged,” Zara replied simply. “The agent who recommended you popped a needle into your arm.”
“Who-”
“Serena, I would like to explain to you about CHERUB first, and then you can ask any questions, okay?”
“I figure if I say no then I’ll have this insatiable curiosity about it for the rest of my life, and I won’t be able to do anything about it, and anyone I tell will think I’m just some dumb kid trying to stir up trouble, so I’ll never know unless you tell me.”
“That’s a yes then?”
“How much more of a yes do you need?”
“Fantastic. So what are your first impressions of us?” Zara questioned eagerly.
“It’s miles nicer than my foster home was, I’ll tell you that much. But I still don’t get why I was sent away to boarding school. I don’t have parents to support me and this place looks pretty pricey.”
Zara laughed, revealing two rows of pearly whites, straight as a ruler and perfectly even. Serena guessed that she had most likely had braces when she was younger.
“I’m glad you approve,” the Chairwoman said, “We have three hundred and forty pupils; four years ago we only had two hundred and eighty. We have four swimming pools, six indoor tennis courts, an all-weather football field, five gymnasiums, a shooting range and two Astroturf pitches, to name but a few resources. We also have a school onsite, and because classes have ten pupils or fewer, you’ll find it easier to advance and concentrate in smaller groups. Ninety-six percent of our students proceed to top universities, and sixty-nine percent end up at Oxbridge. How would you feel about living here?”
Serena was stunned. It took her a few moments to reply.
“Um… It sounds like a great opportunity, and it’s great to be considered, but I’m not exactly the most intelligent person in the world.”
“Well, I’ve had a look through your school record. You’ve never once missed a day of school, except for bereavement, and you’ve received A’s for effort in all your classes. In the last three science tests you took, you earned ninety-five, ninety-one and ninety-six percent. In your last history quiz you got full marks, and you received a level 6a on your most recent English assessment.”
“Okay, so I know a few things. I’m crap at maths and geography-”
“Is that because you’re not smart enough or because you find it boring?”
“Well, let’s face it, geography’s not the most interesting class to study, and maths is really just numbers. I always get bored and end up drawing in those lessons.”
“What do you draw?”
“Mostly manga and animé. I like making superheroes.”
“Really?” asked, Zara, interested. “Have you ever thought of doing external Art classes?”
“What does this have to do with me going to CHERUB?”
“Oh, right, right. So, there are some criteria for new recruits here. Firstly, you must pass a series of entrance exams, and secondly, you have to sign a Silence Act and agree to be an agent for the British Intelligence.”
Serena looked at her blankly. This didn’t make any sense whatsoever. What did MI5 have to do with boarding school? “You what?”
“This isn’t a boarding school, Serena. CHERUB is a sector of the British Intelligence Service. We use children to go undercover where adults can’t. No one ever suspects that kids are spies.” Serena was still gawping, slack-jawed, at her.
“Spies,” she finally managed.
“Yes,” Zara replied simply, folding her hands in her lap.
“Kid spies.”
“Yes.”
“Kids who are spies that spy on people.”
“Yes.”
“So… kid spies.”
“Yes.”
It was too confusing, and far too difficult to attempt to process this information so early in the morning. Her stomach rumbled with hunger as she noticed the half-a-croissant still sitting on the desk.
“That’s… weird.”
“You may be the first potential agent I’ve ever interviewed who’s managed to grasp that fact so quickly. We used to have to use the example of the burglar and the-”
“Why me?”
“Pardon?”
“Why- why did you choose me?”
“Well, Serena, I would have thought that was obvious. You’re intelligent- and don’t bother denying it; you’re creative; you’re physically fit, you have a habit of getting into trouble; and you throw one hell of a right hook.”
“How do you know about that me punching Lauren?”
“Lauren Adams is one of our best agents. It was unfortunate that she lost her temper and whacked her brother over the head with a rounders bat, earning herself a recruitment mission as punishment, but there you go. She was the one who drugged you and called a CHERUB pool car to drive you here. I believe you knew her as Lauren Summers.”
“Lauren- Lauren is one of your people?” Serena asked, incredulously, her voice rising, the shock in her expression quite evident. “But- but- but she was my friend! I trusted her!”
“I’m sorry you’re upset,” said Zara, surprised, “but at least this way you’ll be able to remain friends with her without the hassle of having a long-distance friendship. That is, if you decide to take the entrance exams.”
“Have any agents ever been killed on the job?” Serena asked.
The expression on Zara’s face changed dramatically. Her smile slid away and disappeared.
“In the fifty-five years that CHERUB has been in operation, four youngsters have been killed on a mission. I’ve only been Chairman for about a year now, but so far… so far everyone’s in one piece.” She shook away tears and composed herself. “So, Serena, here’s the offer. If you want, you can take the entrance exam. There are five parts, so it’ll take the rest of the day to get through them. If you do well enough, we’ll offer you a place, and you can go back to West Luton Foster Home for a couple of days to make up your mind. What do you say?”
Serena thought for a moment.
“I think I’d have to be a nutcase to refuse.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Saturday, 12 January 2008
2008's Strangest Newspaper Headlines
I find it a bit hard to believe that the editors of these papers could be this stupid, but I guess so because these are headlines taken from newspapers that were actually published. I figure everyone needs a laugh sometimes so enjoy! --Katie J.
Crack Found on Governor's Daughter
[Imagine that!]
Something Went Wrong in Jet Crash, Expert Says
[No, really?]
Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers
[Now that's taking things a bit far!]
Is There a Ring of Debris around Uranus?
[Not if I wipe thoroughly!]
Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over
[What a guy!]
Miners Refuse to Work after Death
[No-good-for-nothing' lazy so-and-so!]
Juvenile Court to Try Shooting Defendant
[See if that works any better than a fair trial!]
War Dims Hope for Peace
[I can see where it might have that effect!]
If Strike Isn't Settled Quickly, It May Last Awhile
[You think?]
Cold Wave Linked to Temperatures
[Who would have thought!]
Enfield ( London ) Couple Slain; Police Suspect Homicide
[They may be on to something!]
Red Tape Holds Up New Bridges
[You mean there's something stronger than duct tape?]
Man Struck By Lightning: Faces Battery Charge
[he probably IS the battery charge!]
New Study of Obesity Looks for Larger Test Group
[Weren't they fat enough?!]
Astronaut Takes Blame for Gas in Spacecraft
[That's what he gets for eating those beans!]
Kids Make Nutritious Snacks
[Taste like chicken?]
Local High School Dropouts Cut in Half
[Chainsaw Massacre all over again!]
Hospitals are Sued by 7 Foot Doctors
[Boy, are they tall!]
And the winner is.....
Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead
Crack Found on Governor's Daughter
[Imagine that!]
Something Went Wrong in Jet Crash, Expert Says
[No, really?]
Police Begin Campaign to Run Down Jaywalkers
[Now that's taking things a bit far!]
Is There a Ring of Debris around Uranus?
[Not if I wipe thoroughly!]
Panda Mating Fails; Veterinarian Takes Over
[What a guy!]
Miners Refuse to Work after Death
[No-good-for-nothing' lazy so-and-so!]
Juvenile Court to Try Shooting Defendant
[See if that works any better than a fair trial!]
War Dims Hope for Peace
[I can see where it might have that effect!]
If Strike Isn't Settled Quickly, It May Last Awhile
[You think?]
Cold Wave Linked to Temperatures
[Who would have thought!]
Enfield ( London ) Couple Slain; Police Suspect Homicide
[They may be on to something!]
Red Tape Holds Up New Bridges
[You mean there's something stronger than duct tape?]
Man Struck By Lightning: Faces Battery Charge
[he probably IS the battery charge!]
New Study of Obesity Looks for Larger Test Group
[Weren't they fat enough?!]
Astronaut Takes Blame for Gas in Spacecraft
[That's what he gets for eating those beans!]
Kids Make Nutritious Snacks
[Taste like chicken?]
Local High School Dropouts Cut in Half
[Chainsaw Massacre all over again!]
Hospitals are Sued by 7 Foot Doctors
[Boy, are they tall!]
And the winner is.....
Typhoon Rips Through Cemetery; Hundreds Dead
Saturday, 5 January 2008
CHERUB Fan Fiction: Part One
Far from home, in a bed in which she had no memory of falling asleep, Serena McAllister opened her eyes. Light flowed in from a large window on the wall beside her, illuminating an incongruously alien room. The sheets under which she was lying were white, and folded neatly at the end of the wooden-framed bed was a large, white towel. A door stood unlatched alongside the window and she could see a full bathroom beyond it. A small pine table stood adjacent to the bed, displaying a small, black, digital alarm clock reading 07:59
Busy as she was, absorbing her surroundings, Serena was oblivious to the fact that underneath the warm, comfortable bedcovers, she was completely naked. She noticed soon enough, however, and this observation was bewildering, to say the least. She rose slowly into a sitting position, sheets clasped to her bosom, racking her brains for information on how she came to be here, in this aberrantly queer room, in a place of which she knew nothing, but no relevant memory surfaced in her mind, and she was left feeling even more disoriented than Dorothy and Toto must have done at finding that they weren’t in Kansas anymore.
After a few moments of strenuous mind-searching, the puzzled preteen noticed a neat pile of clothes situated innocently atop the towel. The fashion of this clothing reminded her of an odd school uniform, not unlike the sort one would find at a military school. The orderly heap consisted of army-style cargo trousers a pair of black socks with the word CHERUB printed on the ankle, and an orange t-shirt with a logo – a winged baby wearing a World-War-II-style army helmet and a grenade belt, and holding a crossbow, ready to fire, sitting atop a globe with that same word, CHERUB, printed across it – not in a miniature version on the breast as a normal school uniform would have, but large and in directly in the middle of the shirt. Beneath the uniform were black undergarments that looked like they had been previously owned- the knickers were sprouting several strands of elastic from the waistband. She wrinkled her perfect, slightly freckled nose at the thought of wearing someone else’s underwear; that was just gross. On closer inspection, however, she noticed that the previous owner had, in fact, been herself, for she could see the initials S McA scribbled in a permanent black pen on the labels.
In the hope that she would, perhaps, feel better after a hot shower, she seized the towel and moved gracefully across the hardwood flooring and into the bathroom. The walls were made of white ceramic tiles, and the floor white vinyl, so it was understandable that the toilet, bath, sink and shower curtain were also white. The sink basin was set into a sort of table built into the wall. There was a large mirror straight across from it, and a medicine cabinet on either side. The left one proved empty, but she opened the one on the right to find a white plastic toothbrush; Colgate toothpaste; little, hotel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner; two unopened packets of soap; Dove deodorant; a small box of plasters; an unused shaving razor; a white hair-comb and a little container of dental floss.
She set the shampoo, conditioner, and soap on a little shelf protruding from the wall, switched on the power-shower and turned the temperature dial to a comfortable setting and, leaving the towel on the table, stepped under the steaming stream.
As she ran her fingers through her brown hair in an attempt to rid herself of unwanted conditioner, Serena tried as hard as she could to recall a memory – any memory – of how she had come to be here. The last thing she remembered was listening to Lemon Demon on full blast with Lauren Summers, her newfound friend and roommate at West Luton Foster Home for Girls, which might be described as the very shabbiest of shabby care homes.
Within fifteen minutes, she was clean as a whistle, and stepped out of the tub with a boost of consciousness, as opposed to the drowsy self she had been before showering. She wrapped the towel around her torso and tucked it in at the side, staring absently at the mirror and pulling the comb through her hair with ease. As she brushed her teeth with the spearmint paste in the medicine cabinet, Serena felt better physically, but the entire scenario was still exceptionally bizarre.
Enveloped in the large bath towel, with her clean, wet hair dampening the top of it, she ventured over to the window and peered out. Several storeys below, she could see a wide Astroturf pitch with children of ranging ages jogging around it, and two muscular adults drinking coffee by a deserted football pitch in the distance. Beyond this, for as far as her eyes would allow, was an immense forest of leafy trees in vibrant autumn colours- pink, red, brown and burnt orange contrasting beautifully against the chlorophyll in the evergreens at the forest’s edge. Whoever owned this site was clearly at least as wealthy as J.K. Rowling.
Considering that no other clothing was accessible, she wrapped her hair in the towel and dressed herself in the cargo pants and orange shirt, and pulled the socks on over her bare feet and stood up. As she faced the door, she felt a sudden burst of curiosity to see what was beyond it. She longed just to open that door and step out into the world that existed past it.
Tentatively, she walked over and stood before it; it was then that she noticed a pair of army-style combat boots placed in a convenient spot by the wall. Temporarily distracted, she slide her feet into the boots and laced them up. They fit perfectly. Now, in full CHERUB (and she had yet to discover the use for these initials) uniform, Serena McAllister pressed down on the handle, pulled open the door and marched over the threshold.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Tuesday, 1 January 2008
2008
I have never really enjoyed the changing of the years, so keep in mind this post will be quite concise. It takes me a long time to get used to the idea of there being a new year, and then I get attatched to that year, but by that time December 31st has come again and it's time for it to change once more. And I liked 2007. Mostly because I like writing the number seven, but altogether it was a pretty good year. And, you know, once it's past midnight, the novelty has worn off and instead of being the big New Year- it's just plain old 2008. It's like an Oscar speech. Only it's 2007 handing the award over to 2008. And they ALWAYS have to interrupt.
2007: Ahem. Well, everyone. It's been a good year, and, uh, I'll miss you guys somethin' fierce. Well, I guess this is goodbye, then. I'll-
2008: Well, hey there! I'm 2008 and I'm gonna be here for 366 days whether you folks like it or not!
Seriously, how hyper-active can you get? I loved 2006, and I had only just gotten used to the idea of 2007 by November, so I only really liked it for about a month, Now that really sucks.
Happy Frickin' New Year,
Katie J.
2007: Ahem. Well, everyone. It's been a good year, and, uh, I'll miss you guys somethin' fierce. Well, I guess this is goodbye, then. I'll-
2008: Well, hey there! I'm 2008 and I'm gonna be here for 366 days whether you folks like it or not!
Seriously, how hyper-active can you get? I loved 2006, and I had only just gotten used to the idea of 2007 by November, so I only really liked it for about a month, Now that really sucks.
Happy Frickin' New Year,
Katie J.
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