Story Of A Convict

Emily felt shivers down her spine. She had a feeling of eyes following her step by step. She turned around. Nothing. She kept on walking through the alleyway. It was a cold night in London. The moon's face lightens up the atmosphere. It was like the time she went with her parents to the Sunset Theatre. How the light followed the main characters on the stage. Uhh. A low-pitched breathing sound broke the unusual quiet of the street. Emily’s heart skipped a beat. Her hair felt like spikes. Her legs turned into noodles. Her gut instinct told her to run but her mind told her otherwise. She was pretty sure that she would be captured. Moved to New Holland. She knew that stealing a bag of bread to feed her family was a bad idea. “Oh no!” Emily exclaimed.

She turned around expecting to own up to how she stole that bag of bread. She breathed in then out. It was a teenage girl about her age. She was wearing a yellow dress. The color rancid, almost revolting; a smoldering yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight. It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in others. She tried to adapt to the peasant life she was living. From the richest in London to a poor beggar on the streets. “Hi, my name is Madeline… remember from school?” said the teary-eyed girl remembering her past life. Lavish, generous, abundant life. Emily pictured that girl. From Saint Mary’s Middle School. She had 1.5 times more than Emily’s rich dad.  She was always jealous of her. “Oh yes, want to come to steal some bread with me?” Emily vocalized excitedly waiting for a yes. Her mind ran a marathon. She quickly made a plan in her mind. “Quickly imprison her…” Madeline collectedly said.

"Excuse me? Madeline, what on earth are you doing?" asked Emily, almost crying. Her past lavish life raced in front of her. She wasn't going to give her life up. No way is she going to New Holland. She has a family, a life to live. Emily ran her heart out springing from street to street. Trying to lose those wicked soldiers. She turned around and saw a light coming towards her. Scared, overwhelmed she sprinted towards Vincent Street where her ill mother and her brother Oliver begged. Tears came pouring almost a creek of tears. The memory of her father rose from the dead, rusty mind cells. The last memory of him was when she was fifteen. One year ago when she said bye to him for the very last time. "Those soldiers, Walter family. I vow that I will take back my father's fortune from you. I promise!" Emily mumbled under her breath.

FOLLOW US was established in 1997, and since then we have successfully completed numerous short story and poetry competitions and publications.
We receive an overwhelming positive feedback each year from the teachers, parents and students who have involvement in these competitions and publications, and we will continue to strive to attain this level of excellence with each competition we hold.


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