Scarred by Linda Sharkey

Adult winner in Writing Rammy 2019

I turn the key, letting myself in the front door and out of the blinding rain. Shrugging my rucksack off and unzipping my soaked hoodie, I start to make my way from the hall to the dark living-room. Rivulets of rain run from my soaked hair onto my neck, and my face feels frozen.

I knew, without looking, that my face would be mottled and that my eyes would be threaded with red fury – as I fight to hold in the tears that are welled up inside me.

Every day, every single bleeding day, I’m the target of the ‘king-crew’; those alpha guys who strut around school smelling of ‘Millions’, whose trainers look like they’ve only ever been worn in a sterile lab, and who think that picking on kids like me is a sport.

“Wash your emo hair, you filthy animal” Dale sprayed into my face, so close I could see the food stuck between his train-track braces. “Got yourself a skanky girlfriend yet?” Robbie yelled as he slammed into me “or probably a BOYFRIEND?” he smirked, egging on his crew. The pocket of my rucksack got unzipped from behind, and the contents thrown up into the rain. I scrambled, first to find my bus pass – but too late, as it’s snatched away by another leering face. I know this means I’ll be walking for weeks cos my Mum can’t afford a replacement…again!  As I got up, they jostled some more, ‘Big men, huh? Three against one!’ I thought  – as I felt a hard punch on my right kidney. I crumpled down, weakened, as they swaggered off.

At home I pull some bread from its wrapper, and take it dry to my bedroom. Everything is strewn around the floor and I step onto and over things without care, in truth it’s because I don’t care. I don’t matter, and nothing I have matters either. I’m so alone in this world, my Mum is never around; ‘you’re 17 and all the man you’ll ever be’ she’s been saying all this year, justifying her absence… that’s when I do actually see her.

I lie on my bed, eyes tight shut, trying to stop tears sliding into my ears. Something smells bad in here, I know it does – but I ignore it knowing it’s probably a mouldy bit of pizza or something. My mind plays over and over the video of me getting pushed around by ‘the kings’ and even though I try to disrupt the mind-movie it’s always there.   I feel under my mattress for the razor-blade, my breathing eases.

I know what will come next, and I think it will help me.

I count the scars up my arms, and take one breath – in and out – for each silvery line, just as my counsellor taught me. I tell myself over and over that this life is temporary, I can set my own path.

I press the blade hard… and snap it in two.

(c) Linda Sharkey

Home by Hazel Beattie

Adult runner up in Writing Rammy 2019

I wasn’t made here, I just stayed here

Arriving in 70’s suburbia, the glory of artex and chipboard and wallpaper hearts

A fresh start, a fresh house but the same outlook on life

Happy hazy memories are in me like a zoetrope turning, flickering and I am a child again

Bikes with baskets and bells, petal perfume potions stirred with sticks

Dirty knees a badge of honour and playing till the street lights lit the way home

Weekends that rolled on forever with dancing classes, Gregg’s pineapple cakes and getting too hot in Woolworths.

I wasn’t made here but I stayed here

Slowly growing in a rapidly shrinking world, friends moved on and new ones made

Doc boots and Caf Naf or Fustenburg fun in Firkins, no selfies or Facebook to record our youth

Just diaries of daydreams and polaroid proof hidden in creaking cupboards of nostalgia

Mother Glasgow called to me, Sauchie-hauled me in to the city that smiles better

Bright lights, crazy nights, sharing student life with forever friends

Days I treasured and wish I could relive now with the authority of adulthood

That foster mother never really held my heart but with every beat I feel her touch still.

I just stayed here, I wasn’t made here

Returning to roots and planting my own in familiar soil I felt right, I felt nourished

Just us two, then bud after bud our bairns blossom and we follow familiar paths ever changing

Swans still glide in the park with puffing, pedalling parents, but now rider less horses shape their tomorrows

Technology takes as much as it gives and we virtually create a childhood on line

School friends we played with and waited to phone in the hall, now instantly available yet we never call.

My memories can now be bought for a pound or cashed for gold, Piles of unopened promises lie where busy shoppers feet would fall.

We have a turning monster rising from the deep and two majestic myths to define us now but is that who we are?

I know who I am, where I’m from, where I’ve been

So I was made here, and I stayed here.

(c) Hazel Beattie

Writing Rammy Winners 2017

The Writing Rammy is our all-ages creative writing competition. Entrants can be 5 or 105 – we believe everyone has a great story in them. Find out more about the Writing Rammy.

Here’s our winners from 2017.

Adult Category Winner – Pramface Off by Gary Oberg

15-17 category winner – The Arsonists Euphoria by Kate O’Growney

12-14 category winner – Forgotten Stories by Eva Varielle

8-11 category winner Ways NOT to ride a Cow by Lucy Waddell

Family Rammy winners – the Gold family

Family Rammy winners 2017

Our Family Rammy encourages whole families to have a go at writing a story. To enter the family rammy you just need to send in your entry with at least one other family member. Your entry will also be considered individually in your age category, so there’s two chances to win!

Facebook Friends by Audrey Gold

Gail wasn’t happy with her life.

As she dunked a biscuit in her tea, the soggy part dropped off, sinking to a messy end. She really wasn’t happy. It wasn’t just the biscuit, although she did hate when that happened.

No, she was scrolling down her Facebook page and realised her friends didn’t ‘like’ her photos, they never did, and everyone else seemed to be doing so much more than her. And they had boyfriends, husbands, children all doing interesting things…even their dogs and cats led more interesting lives than she did.

Gail resolved to do something about it. She needed to see a better life reflected on Facebook. That was going to start now, she determined, as she shoved the last bit of biscuit in her mouth and drained her cup of tea, nearly choking on the soggy bit at the bottom. Typical for her, she thought; death by soggy tea biscuit. As she washed her cup out, her brain working overtime, she thought digital dating might be the answer.

She set her qualms to the side about this new direction in her life and within a couple of weeks her friends – all 50 of them (though that number did include a group of people she met during a thankfully now-closed Zumba class and someone she met on holiday years ago with whom she had bonded over a predisposition to mosquito bites) – were congratulating her on her new man.

“He’s gorgeous Gail.”
“Where did you find him?”
“Can I get one too?!”

He really was gorgeous. Gail had chosen well, she congratulated herself. Just her type. And the ‘likes’ were mounting up.

Within the month, Gail was posting photos taken at various places –photos of champagne glasses clinking; toes, male and female, in the sand on a Scottish beach. And some of Greg himself; at the end of a marathon, about to set off on the Etape Caledonia all kitted out in his bike gear. He was really sporty and he looked so good in Lycra!

“Getting serious Gail!”
“Does this Greg have a brother?”
“We’ll have to meet him Gail, stop keeping him to yourself!”

Gail was so much happier. Finally, her online life reflected what it should have been all along. It was like looking in a beautiful, shiny mirror. She thought it was time to get a cat.

“You and Greg getting a cat now?”
“Cute cat, Gail.”
“Aww, lovely, babe.”

Her friends – 142 and counting – liked the cat photos. Liked the fact she and Greg had got the cat together. Liked her life. Gail couldn’t be happier. Everything was falling into place. Her perfect life.

Then a message appeared.

“Why are you saying my son is your boyfriend? He’s got a perfectly lovely girlfriend who’s very upset at seeing her boyfriend on your Facebook page.”

The mirror cracked.

“Who’s that mad woman, hun?”
“What does she mean Gail, Greg’s your boyfriend right? Get her told!”
“Gail, what have you done?”

The mirror shattered.

Headline News by Tamsin Gold, age 11

Sandy was plodding back from the newsagents, reading The Daily Post’s headline story about a murderer on the loose when out of nowhere there came the most almighty scream.

He dashed to see who had uttered the blood-curdling scream. He turned the corner only to find his neighbour Mrs Cannie lying there immobilised on the ground with blood slowly oozing out of her body. There was only one conclusion … Mrs Cannie was dead.

Sandy couldn’t believe it. He was scared, really scared. He stopped dead – and that included his breathing for a while.

He felt a cool breath on his neck coming from behind him.
Sandy cautiously turned around to face a tall, thin figure. He was holding a sharp knife in one hand and a freshly loaded gun in the other. Sandy was scared, very scared.
He tried his hardest to stay brave but it was no use – he let out an almighty scream.

Then Sandy was the same as Mrs Cannie – struck dead on the floor. The police were there in a flash and everyone who had been drawn to the scene were ushered quickly backwards but the murderer had left the scene just as quickly as the first time if not quicker.

The murderer had fled from the scene, never found and never would be.

The next day Sheila was reading the headline: “Two dead, one fled” – when she felt a cool breath on her neck…

Robots rule! by Daniel Gold, age 9

The Government gave every house a robot. They were great. They helped around the house and best of all they helped with children’s homework!

Then one day every house in the country received a new Government-approved robot – they said these robots would be more efficient.

The robot bossed Mum and Dad around, telling them to use less electricity and stop using the car. Harris loved football but the robot said football was a waste of time and he should do his homework. Mum said, “I suppose the robot is helping us.” Harris didn’t think so – the robot was taking over!

One day Harris sneaked off from his homework to play with Lego. He built a car with wings and was very pleased with it. Suddenly the robot whirred into the room.

Its mechanical voice said, “You must follow the rules. That vehicle with wings is not in the rules. You must play by the rules.” The robot went on and on about the rules.

Harris couldn’t listen any more.

He picked up the robot and smashed it to the ground!!!!! There! No more rules!

The broken robot said in a wonky voice, “You have defeated me but you will not defeat us all. That is the rule.” There was a knock at the door. Harris opened it and in rolled a shiny new robot.

“Good afternoon Harris, let’s play with the Lego – by the rules this time.”