We delivered our Community Challenge Project at Poulner Junior School in May 2012. Here are the excellent creative writing and word sculptures Poulner Junior School students produced during the Creative Writing Workshop that ran during the week. A powerful drama performance was devised and performed as was a vibrant art exhibition. The artwork can be viewed on our facebook page by clicking here.
No Future, Nothing To Live For
an education and a home.
Well, I seriously do consider what it
would be like to live without these things.
Throughout my 11 years of life I have
needed every single one of those a heck of a lot.
Living off alcohol,
well, it doesn't even taste nice.
Having alcohol control my life,
just imagine how aggravating that would be.
Beer and wine, you see they go together like sushi and mustard.
Well, seriously, I do have to ask why?
Nothing to live for.
Who Am I?
Gradual, disgusting, irresistible, addiction
Daunting, life-threatening, mind-controlling, addiction
Alcohol, spirits, illness, addiction
Depressing, cold, negative, addiction
Hidden, continuous, vivid, addiction
Interminable, impossible, unaware, addiction
Confidence, priceless, unknown, addiction
Essential, intimidated, survive, addiction...
The Shortest Life
As the moon glistened in the black sky the timid young girl who had no confidence found a luminous green bottle balancing on the oak wood table. Meanwhile, her family stomped into their living room. Although she didn't know what it was she was determined to give herself confidence, therefore she took the tablet and washed it down with the liquid in the bottle. Little did she know it was a drug.
As she grew older the more time she spent in hospital, only to start with alcohol all over again. However hard she tried she couldn't stop, although she didn't know every time she would have a blackout. She knew she didn't mean to hurt anyone. She had no control over herself.
The drugs were her masters.
The Family, The Drink, The Drugs and The Baby
Um, well, I am not sure where to start. My parents were drinkers, I always thought it was bad, never realising that one day I would be like them but about 4 times worse...
I tried to force myself not to; it's so hard especially with the disease. If I don't drink, I shiver, shake and feel sick. I look for the little, tiny drop of cider. There appears to be some but when I look closer there is nothing left.
My heart sank, I knew it wasn't good for the baby but I needed it. Or I wanted it. I don't really know which one is right: maybe it's a bit of both. All my body's asking for is a little glass of whisky but with the baby coming I need something to help it. I don't think I can, but I'll have to try. Trying to keep the baby going. At 7 months pregnant it needs to stop, I need to change.
Before it's too late.
What Is The Point?
The rotten smell of alcohol and whisky filled the air.
The intense taste of tablets, which look like sweets, is horrendous.
I've never experienced anything quite like this in my life time.
The sharpness of the smashed bottles of drink makes me feel like I am stuck in a hornets' nest.
It really hurts.
As I tried to stand up, my legs just gave way.
I fell on top of the really sharp glass which I had tried to pick up.
Click. The lights flickered and then failed, leaving the room half-light half-dark. As the little girl's eyes became accustomed to the faint light she saw thousands of multi-coloured bottles shimmering enticingly when dim rays of light hit them. There was a whole corner full of coloured tablets. The girl wandered towards a green bottle with a worn label and grabbed a tablet that matched the bottle.
She took them like she has seen her parents do many times before. They were gone now; she would never see them again. She felt dizzy; she fell to her knees and then remembered nothing till the next day.
What Claire said was a bit sad really. I mean, she was homeless when she was only 15 years old. She slept in bus shelters and woke up on the streets, wondering what the heck happened the night before.
She said that she drank litres of alcohol a day. I mean, that's enough liquid to fill up a whole bath. Claire started drinking and taking drugs such as heroin and cocaine when she was only 12. I mean, I'm turning 12 next year so that's pretty scary.
She said that she was always the quiet little girl sitting in the corner. I can imagine it; hugging her knees tightly, her head buried deeply into her t-shirt. What a sight.
All she needed to do was ask for help, then she wouldn't be so alone.
I can't believe how many times Claire has been in hospital. It's quite a few times. Hearing Claire's story, I'm never going to drink or take drugs. In my whole life I have had one tiny sip of wine and it tasted of puke. Then I had a droplet of beer and, OMG! It was disgusting.
No Place Like Home
Exhausted, terrified, puzzled. I lay on the cold floor of the street, not knowing what happened the night before. I felt sick as I struggled to pick myself up. I had nowhere to go, no home to be comfortable in.
At the age of 15 no teenager should be on the streets. I staggered over to the grubby bus stop which was now where I was going to live. My mind persuading me to have a tiny taste of alcohol, or a tablet to fizz away on my tongue and slide down my throat. At the nearest shop I stole a bottle of whisky just to keep me alive. The loud noise of sirens tormented my head, sending me falling to the ground.
As I tried to stand up policemen's hands grabbed hold of me and chucked me into the back of their truck. My eyes closed, my vision went black. Hours later I opened my eyes and found myself surrounded by metal bars. I was in the police station again.
Yuck, poo, rotten – who would want to drink alcohol?
Waking up on the side of the road with a bunch
of strangers watching you sleep –
what are they? Stalkers?
If I was Claire I would want to remember
every day of my life or I would think it's a waste of time.
Having all that rotten smell in your mouth until you do it all again,
having people make faces at you because of the state you're in.
Picking drugs off the road and them looking like sweets,
I mean, I sort of get it – once I accidentally dropped
my chewy drumstick on the floor because a drunken man knocked me
But why would you eat it?
Worst Day Ever
Whoosh went the tree's as the wind blew giving 17 year old Sarah a breeze as she woke up in a white hospital bed.
Hello Sarah, how are you? asked a doctor, in the mental part of the room.
Where... where am I?
Well, how should I put it, you're in hospital...
You had a lot of alcohol and, well, you went a bit mad so the police bought you here...
But I don't remember anything
I know, you won't, you've had a blackout
The next day Sarah ran away to get some alcohol. Somewhere in Tesco's;
Hey, come back here screamed an angry shop keeper.
Give that back, he bellowed, whilst running at a top speed of 7 mph.
Make me baldy Sarah shouted. But before she got away with it Sarah bumped into an extremely tall policeman;
So where did you get that Madam?
Errrmm... I got...I mean ... I bought it
I've heard it all before...
Just then a fuming shop keeper came over. He had ran all over the shop to get to Sarah, whilst gasping for air.
Strange Multi-Coloured Bottles
The room was ink black,
Dusty bookshelves filled with multi-coloured bottles,
Strange looking tablets on colossal blood red books.
The walls were covered with stuffed animals.
It smelt as disgusting as dog waste and mouldy rotten eggs on a boiling hot day.
The violet wallpaper, which had small flowery patterns, was peeling off the wall.
A small, shy nine year old girl crept down ancient,
creaky oak floorboards, which had little inky wine stains scattered on the floor.
The girl chose a brown coloured bottle,
While taking many tablets in her hand.
The bottles held unhealthy alcohol.
Dizzy, the girl suddenly fell to the floor.
The next morning she held her stomach in pain.
Friends, family, disappointment hitting me in the chest, knocking me back, making me do a half-flip backwards onto my head. But no, I can only feel the pain. Emotions of depression rise up inside me as I take every last sip of the cold whiskey; it drips down my chin, and forces me to take every last drop. It is as if I am being punished for my childhood of depression. The more I try to get back to my senses, the more I am about to faint. Dizziness, confusion, I am trying to find out who these people are bouncing up and down all around me, having fun, that's something I will never be able to accomplish.
Money, time - will I ever escape from this death pit of pain and darkness of the cruel world?
Sometimes I wonder if it is just me, or if it is the whole world that is different to me, who cant feel my pain, my suffering, its like everybody who is different to me will live "happily ever after". But I know, due to this satin devil, tasteless alcohol, I don't even know what I'm drinking, that I will live an unwanted, reclusive life. I've got no hope.
The Bad Beginning
Glaring through the eyes,
Telling herself not to do it
But it was irresistible
A chance to experiment
Now she was looking at such beauty
Mixed alcohol and drugs;
Pills, tablets of every sort,
And every colour of the rainbow,
Dotted and spilled
All across the kitchen floor
These helpful things looked so refreshing
Parent's yelling echoes through the corridor
Towards the frightened little girl
Who's laying down in the gloomy kitchen
She quickly gobbles one up
She's shaking all over as she gulps down the weirdly coloured liquid
It begins to gurgle down her throat
Flow into her brain
Move into her heart
Pops and giggles inside her tummy
Uncontrollable addiction followed
Frightening and intimidating
Thoughts of the incredible destruction
This could do to a 9 year old girl
22 years of continual drinking every day forced into drinking the grim horrible liquid
One and a half bottles
Her normal future
My stomach groaned.
I staggered away from the teasing off-licence.
What lay ahead?
I squeezed my blood swollen eyes tight shut.
I could hear the Voice
Moaning and screaming for more drugs.
Weaving away from the vandalized bus shelter,
My only home.
The Voice made another attempt to take over my mind.
Blindly I blundered towards the death place,
The building where addiction beats mind.
Smashing furiously through the shops cracking windows,
My tongue hungered for the dire taste of alcohol.
As my fist finally shattered the last pane of glass.
My urge for alcohol was overwhelming,
This was my heaven.
But can heaven keep me alive?