Story Snippets

How to: Have an adventure:

It doesn't matter where you are. You can always have an adventure. Just close your eyes and imagine, like you're watching television inside your head. Do you see flowers? What kind? Or can you see something bigger? Can you picture being a swashbuckling pirate or an astronaut with a rocket ship? Maybe you're a King or a Queen. Imagine where you are and add some stardust. Magic is everywhere, not always like witches and wizards. Magic can be created with a simple smile. Open your eyes, see how butterflies twinkle, how bright the sun shines or perhaps how tall the trees are. Be brave and free like the butterfly, shine like the sun, stand proud like the trees. An adventure is simply a really good day, so go out and have a great one.

Pick a place and describe it:

The theatre was old and classy, unlike the people within it. Wild and messy was the party within its walls, internally resembling the outside of a Faberge egg. It was an expensive building, filled with poverty, owned by people who didn’t know what to do with it, so they didn’t. They left it abandoned. Its hinges swinging, like the large lady on the trapeze, both hanging on for dear life.

Pick the same place and describe it in microscopic detail:

There's a warm atmosphere, yet the temperature is cool. When everyone else arrives it will neutralise, or I'll simply forget about the heat as I fall into the fantasy. The smell that surrounds me is musty. My heart is cosy here like someone's poured hot chocolate all over it. I might buy a hot chocolate in the interval, or maybe some ice cream from the neatly dressed attendant's tray. The orchestra tunes their instruments. Lush velvet runs through my fingers. The seats are scarlet, plushie, comfortable yet I can't help fidgeting, too excited to sit still.

My eyes dart curiously, despite knowing what I will find. The elaborate curtain conceals the stage and its safety curtain. The proscenium's arch frames the fabric. Its curves carved classically. Beautiful architecture, precariously standing, depicting cherubs and amber lights, twinkling, smiling at me. I struggle to look away. The growing chatter of excitement echoes around the room. I have no choice but to stand to allow an elderly woman and her husband to pass and take their regular seats. Once we've exchanged pleasantries, I'm sat again. I look up and marvel.

The huge LED spotlights, attached to the balconies, they're moving from white to red to green. They look strangely perfect next to the intricate baroque style paintings on the ceiling. How long did the paintings take to do and how did the artists not fall? I wonder.

The orchestra scrunches the opening pages to the overture. The lights dim, my stomach twists, my heart races, my eyes snap back to the stage as the curtain lifts and the music completely overwhelms me. I'm home.

Started with the word Nightime:


Ophelia’s Mother believed there were different clouds for daytime and different clouds for night-time. We, of course, know that the clouds in the sky are the same clouds, no matter the time of day. From the scorching tangerine sun that prickles the skin to the black void of the shivering night, the greeting sunrise, and the satisfying sunset, the pale blue hues of a spring morning, the smirking devilish hallows eve. No matter the backdrop, the clouds remain the same. They do not simply vanish when the sun does and reappear at night to swirl like a whirlwind and create a fresh new veil, but Ophelia’s Mother was persistent in her belief, so who are we to argue? Whether it was because she didn’t want to appear regular-minded or if she genuinely believed it, we’ll never truly know, but what we do know, is that the clouds at night were her favourite of the two.

They’re richer, she would say, because they’re surrounded by the crystals of the moon. Pure sugared candy floss without the artificial colourings, innocent and ghostly. It’s where I want to go when I die, she proclaimed, her metal jewellery clanging against her wrists and chest. She danced under the moonlight, arms waving, skirts just missing the licking flames from the beach fire, almost asking for permission to join the clouds in peace. The darkness was something she craved, so much so that she often dreamt of it in the day.

Ophelia wondered if it were possible, to drift into a final withering sleep and awake amongst the stars. Could she wrap herself in the night clouds, in the same way, she cocooned within her softest blankets? At the ripe age of ten she decided it was possible, when her mother’s body began pushing up daisies, and fresh eyes greeted her with the sunset, sparkling brightly amongst the Moons disciples.

Write the same story but from two different perspectives:

A Child: I pushed Lizzie today and she fell. I didn’t push her that hard, but she started crying and then there was a big cut on her elbow and lots of blood. I made her promise not to tell because I’ll get in trouble if she does. I wanted to give her my chocolate bar to say sorry, but my Auntie took her to the hospital before I could give it to her. Lizzie told her mom that she’d tripped over her laces. I texted her to say sorry and she said it was okay. Lizzie’s a really good friend.

A Mother: The amount of money I pay for these teachers to look after our Lizzie, and she always comes home battered and bruised. I had to take her to the hospital again today. She needed stitches all up her arm, it’ll leave a scar to match the many others she’d acquired at the kids’ club. I honestly despair with it all, I won’t be able to afford any other extra expenses this month. I did ask Lizzie how she cut her elbow, and she just told me that she’d tripped on her laces, so I’ve bought her some shoes with Velcro now. Into the overdraft again. Oh, I feel like such a terrible mother. No matter what I do, she always ends up hurt.

Thanks for reading,



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