Last week, we were once more privileged to be part of the UEA FLY Festival (Festival of Literature for Young people). Ink Sweat & Tears again supported the final event, a superbly enthusiastic POETRY SLAM. Huge thanks to host/mentor Tim Clare and judges/mentors Mark Gristo, MC Mixy and Molly Naylor for making it such an entertaining occasion and congratulations to the kids from The Hewett School and the Downham Market, Kings Lynn and Open Academies for taking up the challenge so well and for pushing the boundaries of originality in poetry. An ode to Blu-Tack, talking shoes or melted chairs as art, anyone? Not to mention several very moving pieces on bullying and war.
In addition, IS&T’s Kate Birch co-judged the Short Story Competition with the brilliant Alexander Gordon Smith (The Fury, the Furnace and Inventors series), a festival favourite and patron, who also wrote the story’s opening. It is featured in italics below followed by the winning ending from the 15-17 age group, by the very talented Aedan Fisher. Prepare to be intrigued.
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“That’s the problem with authors, they’re always late!”
There was an awkward silence in the lecture hall. It was the opening day of the FLY Festival and we had a day off from school to listen to one of the most famous writers on the planet. Everybody was here… except for the author! I was sitting at the back, next to the doors, with my best friend Sam. The only person on stage was the festival organiser. She kept glancing at her watch and laughing nervously.
“I’m sure she will be here in a moment,” she said, the microphone squealing. “Perhaps we should go look for her. Um… You dear.”
She seemed to be looking right at me. I pointed to myself.
“Yes, you, right at the back. Would you be so kind?”
“Er…” I said. “You’d like me to look for the author?”
“Thank you,” she said. “She’s bound to be out there somewhere. Send her in!”
Everybody in the room was looking at me and my cheeks were on fire. I stood up, grabbed hold of Sam, and together we walked out of the lecture hall.
“Where on earth do we start looking?” said Sam.
I shrugged. I had no idea! The university was huge. There was no sign of her anywhere in the hallway, or on the path outside.
“Let’s try there,” I said, pointing to a building across the road. “She might have taken a wrong turn.”
It was a strange looking place with LABORATORY written in big letters above the door.
There was a smaller notice underneath that said: ‘Keep out, dangerous experiments underway!’ The whole building seemed to be vibrating, and there was a strange smell in the air.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go in there,” said Sam.
I was about to agree when through the glass door we spotted the author! She crossed a hallway, looking very confused, and disappeared into a room.
“Come on!” I said.
And before Sam could argue, I opened the door and ran inside…
FIRST PLACE: AEDAN FISHER (15) THE COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL, LEFTWICH
… After I ran inside I found myself confronted with a labyrinth of doors and stairwells. Turning left, I spotted in the corner of my eye the author wandering, still confused, entering one of the strange doors. Gasping for air Sam caught up with me and placed his sweaty hand on my right shoulder. He coughed and wheezed before taking a puff from his inhaler. Sam couldn’t do much exercise these days since he’s discovered the recently opened and overpriced cake shop in town which had rendered him rather unfit. With this in mind, I slowed to a gentle jog where he found it much easier to keep up with me.
We approached the door the author had gone through. Taking notice of the warning sign on the laboratory door in mind, we cautiously entered the room without looking at the sign on the door. “This doesn’t seem like a laboratory” exclaimed Sam “It looks more like the toilets to me and a strange place to perform dangerous experiements” he continued. My cheeks flared red with embarassment as we had entered the women’ s lavatory. But the building still vibrated and the strange smile from earlier was stronger in here than it was in the entrance, “I know this smell it’s…” CRACK! The floor was splitting from beneath our feet and the smell began poring through the cracks… “SULPHUR!” I shouted. I covered my mouth with my sleeve and nudged Sam to do the same.
We managed to edge our way round the cracks and towards the sinks. Suddenly, the tiles were being clawed from below our feet, and spiralled into the deep red vortex which had begun to form in the centre of the room. The air appeared to be limited now and the electricity flickered on and off, repeatedly. BANG! The cubicle doors swung open and off their hinges batting against the walls before hurtling into the blood-like abyss. Everything in the room began leaning into the pit…
Then nothing. No smell of sulphur. No vibrations. The air levels seemed to have normalised now; but there in the cubicle right in the corner was “THE AUTHOR” I exclaimed. I clasped Sam by his shirt and rushed over to her assistance. She appeared in a haze of confusion as we helped her to her feet and guided her towards the hall.
We arrived at the Lecture Hall once more, only this time with a just about conscious woman and took her to her designated seat while she regained consciousness. After ten minutes, the exhausted festival organiser noticed the author. “Here she is!” she bellowed and pointed to the woman who started stumbling towards the stage, like a child who’d just learnt how to walk. She looked different now, not that she couldn’t walk very well but by her eyes which half an hour ago were bluish but now were more of a reddish colour.
Maybe we didn’t bring the author back…
Maybe we brought something else…
(The winner of the 11-14 year group will be featured tomorrow.)