RoCkEr AbBiE

I don't mean a pathetic twelve year old group of kids. I mean 16-19 year olds, living in a rough society where it's hard to get by. Teens that aren't afraid to be seriously violent and do major harm. Any ideas for a gang name???

Thanks! :)

I just need to be sure of this for a novel I'm writing currently, thanks! :)

Hi, please could you recommend any good teenage authors of fantasy books that you know of? I'm 16 so I don't mean the very young kids stuff. Anything involving angels/immortals/vampires/other worlds/wizards etc..

Authors I already like:

J K Rowling

Alyson Noel

P C Kast

Susan Collins

L J Smith

Lauren Kate

etc

Please mention your favourite titles by the author you recommend too! Also, feel free to mention any other young adults authors you like!

Your help will be much appreciated! :D

Haii, please list as many good teenage fantasy/thriller/crime books that you would know of and reccomend? Or just any other good young adult books? I read too much ^^ Thanks xx

New Life

The Sounds

The sounds of screaming

Of gunshots, of explosions

Of frightened young soldiers

Curdling together in a twisted melody

The melody of my new life

The Sights

The sights of bodies burning

Of crying, of bleeding

Of death

Splashing together across a disaster portrait

The portrait of my new life

The smells

The smells of bodies rotting

Of sweating, of the dirt

Of poisonous gases

Coiling together in a putrid scent

The scent of my new life

It's not quite what I was used to

Things changed so fast really

One moment I was cared for

One moment I was loved

One moment I had a family

But now I am a warrior

My only purpose is to fight

Gone are the ones I love

Entering darkness I left them

In the light...

War Child

Hello there young British teen

My name is Ruel

And I live in a third world country

Let's take a look at our lives, shall we?

Each day you feast on three meals

Glorious food to fill your tummy

I get little, if any food

I know, how it feels to be hungry

But what makes you different from me?

You play war games on computers

Controlling soldiers, solving mysteries

When in fact, my life is quite similar to your games

Only when I lose a life, I don't get to restart

But why not you? Why me?

You learn such great things as maths

And English and Science and History

Whilst I am taught how to hold my gun

Wishing I had the rights to an education

But why should you and not me?

You moan when you're asked to do chores

You're tired, you want to relax

But I have to fight for days on end

Disobey and I will be shot

But why aren't you in my position? Why should it be me?

Becasuse we are both the same, deep down, you'll see

We were both born into loving families

We can both laugh

We can both cry

We can both love

And we can both lie

I am a teen, just like you

Equal in God's eyes, if only the world knew

But because I live here and you live over there

Our worlds are both split apart

Different, from the start

I just like that you should know...

You're lucky.

Thanks very much to anyone who reads + comments, constructive criticism is also well appreciated :) x

please could you suggest to me some ongoing writing competitions for teenagers living in the UK? Preferably without an entry fee and on any area of writing: stories/poems/essays etc, any suggestions would be highly appreciated, thanks :) <3

Okay so I have these two friends, known them both since I was very little, but always had more to do with one because of family friendships and so she's always been my best friend (who for this I'll call Sophie.)

Just lately Sophie has been complaining to me quite a lot about my other friend (will call her Carly), saying she feels that Carly is trying to take me away from her. She's also said that she's really annoying her and can't stand how Carly's slightly nasty comments are always directed towards her.

Also, Carly has also been speaking to me saying she feels Sophie is completely pushing her out, ignoring her, and literally WON'T talk to her even when we're in a group. She's feeling hurt by this.

I've also noticed how Sophie is forever blanking out Carly and to be honest I don't think it's fair. However, Carly's jibes towards Sophie aren't nice either.

None of them know that the other has been confiding in me about them and both seem to trust me and expect me to agree with them, but really I don't know what I think.

So what should I do? Tell them both what the others said or not? And what about next time they talk to me, should I be honest about what I feel or just go along with it? I just hate acting oblivious when they both keep complaining to me.

Any help would be greatly appreciated, 10 points reward for best answer, thanks <33

Okay so I'm feeling pretty mad right now, any crazy tunes to just help me get it out? (preferably rock/metal)

thanks <3

'Now, this year's Young Intellects competition has been by far the best. More entrants than we've ever had have flooded in from up and down the country, making this years winning position an even harder place to achieve. But yes, we've done it, we've narrowed it down to two superbly talented teenagers here tonight in London to battle it out for the title of Young Intellect 2005 and a grand prize of £10,000. Please give a warm welcome to Mathew Stevenson and Cole Parker!' The applause erupted as happy cheers set off into the air around me like mini fireworks, penetrating the quickly formed tension which now evaporated, steam-like, into the air above us.

The room was fairly large, dark, so as the only lights shone admirably upon the stage, upon my son Cole. Amongst the buzzing audience sat members of the press, scribbling rapidly and flashing their cameras, their faces eager and expectant. However, the main crowd was that of the family of Matthew Stevenson.

Cole had spoken rarely of Matthew to me, but when he did, what he said had always been venomous, and Cole rarely spoke hatred of anyone. Matthew came from a posh boarding school somewhere in Cheshire, where their chauffeurs drove them to school in limousines, where the food was delicious, where the uniform was spotlessly smart, where the teaching was always of the highest standards, where everything was impeccable.

Of course, Matthew had found perpetual joy bragging about all this to the state-school-going, school-dinner-mush-eating, regular guy Cole. The stuck-up snob of a child had tried continuously to intimidate Cole, with his snide remarks and spiteful comments. But Cole was from the real world, and he knew better than to let Matthew get to him. He brushed off the comments and only spoke bitterly of Matthew to me.

Matthew had a huge crowd of rich kid snobs with him, plently of snooty teachers, and a pair of viole, obese, designer wearing parents. they waved their fancy banners and made sure their cheers were the loudest. Matthew's mother caught my eye and shot me a look set to kill. I shuddered.

The Parker fan club was somewhat smaller, but never ones to be beaten, we roared and cheered with all our might. To my left sat Hannah, Cole's 5 year old sister, her curly brown pigtails bouncing around crazily as she clapped and squealed for Cole. On my right sat Mr Carson, Cole's English teacher, his coach for the competition. The one forever nagging, the one forever pushing, the one so determined for Cole to do well that he'd dedicated night after night to teaching Cole. My son respected him, and so I did too, he had become a good family friend. He was the only one at the school who believed in Cole; the smug grin upon his face was well deserved.

I smacked my hands together heavily in applause as my son appeared on stage. He grinned like a fool, awestruck at the whole situation. He looked so smart in his ebony suit, white shirt and deep blue tie. Reaching this far in the competition had been a huge achievement for Cole, finally his inteligence had been noticed. Embarrassingly, I felt myself welling up, I was just so proud, it didn't matter if he won or not. And so what if he didn't end up following in my footsteps and becoming a doctor? This world had thrown out so many options for my boy.

My boy.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my jeans pocket. The message was flagged as urgent:

'Mr Parker, you are required at the hospital immediately.'

No! Not today! So many times I'd had to leave Cole, so many times. But tonight was the biggest night of Cole's life. It's not fair to make me come! My son needs me! But someone's in an emergency... they need me more. I'll see Cole as soon as I get back, I won't be that long. I can't be that long.

Silently, I stood up and exited the audience. Mr Carson and Hannah would know where I was going. When I reached the door I turned back for a second. Cole had seen me and understood, but there was no denying the hurt that washed over his face. I forced a smile and mouthed, 'I love you', opened the door and left the building, once again leaving my son.

Only this time I left him for good.

hi, basically I need a base idea for a short script between 5-8 mins long for four girls for my drama coursework, i'm not asking for an entire script, just some inspiration and a start idea that i can base the script around. Please help me, need answers pretty quickly.

Thanks :) x

well at the moment, my hair is a reddish brown, sorta auburn-y, and I wanna change to a golden blonde sorta colour, however, I tried a dye yesterday that was shade 91 on the 'Nice and easy' range, which was labelled dark blonde. But it hasnt made my hair blonder, if anything, more red. So what shade should I go for?? Help please !!

thanks =) x

The Red Cross Killer

Chapter 1

‘Life is like a script, it has to come to an end.’ The line seemed to form in my head. A few tears rolled down my dirty face and dripped slowly onto the creaking floorboards. I sat there with the man’s head cradled in my hands. Fear was still painted upon his face as if he were reliving his last living moments over and over again. The man had that mark; another one of his victims. I did not know who he was, but it had to be the same person. No one would ever listen to me, but I knew it. The tiny ‘X’ that pierced the skin on the man’s left palm, signalled that he had stolen yet another life.

Ian Raston looked down at the crumpled sheet of paper that he held so tightly in his sweaty hand.

“Mountford Road!” He told Evans. He could not control the zealousness in his voice. He watched ardently as Evans keyed the address into the PDA. Who could blame him though? He was just a rookie. Life as a cop was new to him. Life without acting was new to him. He had only been working here for five months and had already participated in the investigations of three murder cases. What was the world coming to?

There was one thing that Ian was waiting desperately for; the time at which his bugger of a partner Evans would retire. It would happen sooner or later. Ian wished it would be sooner.

He looked upwards. The sky was a dusty blizzard of blackness and the moon was a dimming, single bulb; revealing to them the old country paths as they raced onwards, towards Mountford Road. He laid his head back and – if only for a few seconds – let himself melt into the warmness of the night.

I looked down into the man’s bulging eyes. I tried to picture the normal man behind all the blood and fright. Somehow I remembered him; or if not, he looked familiar. Where I had seen him, where and how I did not know. But this man’s image seemed to trigger something in the deep roots of my memory. I had no explanation as to why I had wound up finding another of these victims; but something in my conscience knew that leaving these corpses to be found by anyone was not a good idea. Why? I was not sure. I was not sure about anything. But I had to make a move.

I heard the distant roar of a police car, growing ever louder. Or maybe it was just my brain, hurling scared thoughts back and forth in a frenetic madness.

Ian was jerked back to reality as Evans slammed the brakes down suddenly.

“What was that?” He mumbled from under his crumb-covered beard. Ian looked at the street sign: Mountford Road.

“What?” Ian blinked, “I didn’t see anything.” Evans looked annoyed,

“You’re about as vigilant as a stuffed toy!” He looked at Ian disapprovingly, “And you’re the young’un!”

“Err, I’m sorry sir,” Ian defended himself, “And I am thirty nine.”

“Well that’s fourteen years younger than me then!” Evans growled, Ian slid down into his seat; his head drooping, clearly embarrassed. “Hmm,” Evans’ eyes widened, “look, there it is again.” A figure was strolling casually down the road, through the forest which surrounded them. “Eh, it’s probably nothing.” Ian nodded his head in agreement and was sure he heard an engine quietly shake into life. Evans continued down the winding road.

I closed my eyes as I gently pulled the blade out from the man’s heart. Blood gushed out like a leak in a water pipe; I stifled a scream. An unnerving feeling of guilt had implanted itself upon me. Why was I feeling like this? It was not my fault this man had died; I had just been a passer-by, a nosy one at that. Walking through the forest, I had heard a horrendous yelling from a house nearby, yells full of pain from a dying man. I just could not carry on walking. Not me. No one seemed to care about me, but I could never leave someone to die.

I lifted up the man’s checked shirt and a small gasp escaped me. His chest and been cruelly pierced in several places. His body was a bleeding mess, blood still oozing out. Why had I not just left him and ran? Now I had left my fingerprints upon him, hinting to any clue-seeking coppers that I was the murderer. Why did I always have to interfere?

I took hold of the man’s hands. He was short and quite scrawny, and so with a sudden wave of strength, I managed to haul him to the stairs. It seemed as though his bulged, sorrowful eyes never left mine. I tried my best not to focus on the reality of what I was doing. I was mad.

Part way down the stairs I tripped on the corpse and staggered backwards a few steps. My heart pounded ferociously. I regained my balance and let go of the chilled, scraggy hands to brush my frizzy mop of hair from my face.

As I pulled the strands from my eyes, I revealed my worst nightmare. Staring at me through was him. That pale white face. That bush of a curly black beard. And those empty, dilated eyes; peering at me through the black mask, hungry for the light. A face that I could not remember, yet knew so well; a

okay, so I wrote this poem when I was holiday recently at a place in Anglesey. I know it's got a cheesy edge to it but I'm not sure this can be helped as I know most poems about topics such as holidays tend to be quite cheesy, but I'm looking for advice on how to better it, and maybe make it less cheesy?

At the beach in Treadur Bay

I like it here, alone, just me,

Comfortably lost in this mystery.

I sit on a rock, so rough, yet soft,

Smoothed and broken into shards by the sea.

The waves tumble, they crash, they splash,

Yet with an elegance I cannot compare.

The murky blue sky, it fades, grows dark,

The wooly grey clouds are frozen in place.

The rippling sea, it is swift, it is calm,

Lapping gently against the seaweed splattered rocks.

The sea and the wind, they hum, they sing,

Twisting together in harmonic whispers.

The rock silhouettes, smaller, and smaller,

Fading into the perfectly straight horizon.

Right behind me, a world, slightly alive,

Amber lights reveal the way to a passing car.

The black house, it's haunted, we think,

A creaking structure stood high in the dark.

I turn back to the sea, the quiet, the peace,

A soft bird call floats through the cool air.

I lift my face up to the night, the beauty, it overwhelms me,

I know as I'm swallowed by this scene, there's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Thanks to anyone who reads this and comments, constructive criticism is welcome, thanks =) x

The Picture In Her Head

She sits there waiting, looking around.

A light and gentle tapping, she hears his footsteps on the ground.

She looks up to a sky of dirt, she cannot see his face.

Hidden by the dust, from a cold and horrid place.

Her mind has drawn this picture, yet it seems to be unclear.

He seems to be so distant, yet her heart says he's so near.

She wakes from the dream she's dreamt so many times before.

Her eyes ease open slowly, and the picture is tore.

She knows she'll live this day the same way she's always done.

Longing for it to end, for the moon to replace the sun.

She's trapped inside her head, wants to see more of him.

But she knows she'll never know who he is, his figure remains so dim.

Her eyes begin to close, but she strolls across the road.

A road so very busy, the traffic perpetually flowed.

But this driver was not aware, didn't look till it was too late.

She screams and falls to the floor, her head hits his number-plate.

She wakes up feeling dizzy, around her lights shone.

But something has been taken; the image in her mind has gone.

She fails to remember the picture, can't even think of his silhouette.

Unpleasant feelings take over; she's filled with anger and regret.

She's searched for him each day, longed for him to come.

But his picture is lost within, now she feels so numb.

She tries to stand but knows she cannot, her body will not work.

Her heart is aching, her hope is gone, and she feels like such a jerk.

Her eyes closing one last time, she prays a silent prayer,

"God, please forgive me for my sins, I'm sorry I did not care.

Please come in my heart, and take me up to you,

I feel so very tired, yet I long to feel brand new."

Her breathing fades, her eyes fall shut, but they'll open once again.

A welcoming light to a place so great, now she feels no pain.

She has been saved, she's with the Lord, and she loves him with all her heart.

Thinking now, she realizes, it was him she needed from the start.

She no longer needs to close her eyes; the image has become so real.

She just needed to come to God, needed him to heal.

The image in her head was of no ordinary man.

But of God himself, and his master plan.

(Thanks to anyone who reads this, opinions/comments/advice/constructive feedback welcome)

Thanks =) x

Statue of the park

I have to stay smiling as little children prod at me,

When I'd rather just run away.

But I cannot run, I cannot move.

I am the statue of the park.

Teenagers swing on my arm, unaware of the pain it gives me,

How I wish that I could tell them.

But I cannot tell them, I cannot speak.

I am the statue of the park.

My expression is fixed in place, my right hand is clasped around my cane.

But I cannot walk, so what use bares my cane?

I cannot talk, so what use bares my mouth?

I cannot be real, so what use bares my heart?

I see you all walk by, moaning about your lives,

And it kills me to see you complain.

Because you have gifts greater than I can imagine.

You're si lucky compared to me.

You can talk, you can walk, you can breathe, you can feel.

You can see, you can smell, you can hear, you are real.

Unlike me, you don't have to stay in the same place day by day.

Your skin is the colour peach, mine is a fading grey.

I wish more than anything to break free of this stone,

To live the life you live.

To be blessed with these gifts that you take for granted,

Oh, what I would give.

So if you're fed up with your life, just stop for a moment and think,

Would you rather be where I am, with a body made of stone?

Never changing, always the same, with none of the gifts you possess.

Facing all sorts of weather, without a home to call your own.

But I'd rather be here than nowhere,

And I'm still grateful for wot I've got.

So put your life against mine,

And you'll learn to love what you have.

There are many things that I do not have,

But I do have more than some.

I'll be proud of who I am and wear my smile with pride.

I am the statue of the park.

(any feedback/comments/criticism is welcome, thanks)

haii, well I post quite a few of my poems on youtube, and I put them with songs, but I can't think of a song to go with this poem:

The Doll with the Broken Leg

I used to have fun. Down there, with the rest.

I used to get picked, I used to be the best.

Now I sit up here, up here on the shelf, no longer top of the range,

I'm just the doll with the broken leg.

No longer can I walk down the catwalk,

No longer can I do pretty spins.

So now I'm left up here, I suppose it's only fair, there's nothing special about me,

I'm just the doll with the broken leg.

I'm the one left, uncared for, unloved.

A layer of dust on my body.

My hair's left unbrushed, I'm of no use anymore,

I'm just the doll with the broken leg.

I once was top of your christmas list,

The must have, your favourite, the best.

Now it seems I'm forgotten, left alone, here on the shelf,

I'm just the doll with the broken leg.

Here you come again, and I know what is to come.

Your eyes scan over us as you select the lucky ones.

I look up as I feel your soft touch on my head, wiping the dust from my face.

My heart skips a beat as I'm lifted up, I see you smile, happiness floods through me as I see that I'm still loved.

I'm the doll with the broken leg...

Please help! Thanks =) x

What do you think of my poem? (about african slavery)?

(I wrote it cos it once was a serious matter and I just wanted to show a little about what the slaves went through and I don't mean to cause offence to anyone)

I am no different to you

I wish for my hunger to subside.

I wish for my pain to cease.

I wish to be loose of these heavy chains.

I wish, I wish to be free.

I am an African slave.

I am no different to you.

But to them I am an object, taken to be sold,

To be sold to someone like you.

Is it because of my colour, that I'm treated with so much virulence?

Is it because of where I'm from that you have more rights than me?

Is it because I'm poor, that you take me against my will?

Or is it because you don't believe in freedom and equality?

I wish not for my children to see this,

These sights so abusive and cruel.

I wish for them what most children have,

No hunger, clothes and a school.

But they see us as worthless, so they take what life we have.

They make us work day in, day out, and pay us with ahandfull of porridge.

I hope I do not get ill, or I face a watery death.

But sometimes I wonder, could death be better than this?

In the bottom of my heart, there is a little spark of hope.

A hope that one day this will end,

That someone will stand up and makeamendss,

That a leader will offer us a helping hand.

I am an African slave.

I am no different to you.

But to them I am an object, taken to be sold,

To be sold to someone like you.

(I've written it as though I'm a little girl of about the age of 6)

I'm doing a test in literacy,

But the questions make no sense to me.

Instead I draw a fluffy bunny.

I don't think that I should worry,

My Mummy says I'll be alright.

The school bells ringing, I'm on my way out,

I see the other mummy's in the yard.

Mine isn't there, I don't know where she is,

I have to walk home alone, but,

My Mummy says I'll be alright.

I knock on the door, no one let's me in.

I hear yells and glass smashing inside.

Then Daddy appears, grabs me by my neck.

He's always angry, but it's okay,

My Mummy says I'll be alright.

I'm pushed in my room, Daddy locks me in,

I play on my own, pretend I can fly.

Then I stop, feeling hungry.

I know I'm not getting any food, but,

My Mummy says I'll be alright.

I get up and look through the window,

My brother's fighting in the street.

I'm scared of his friends, they seem big and mean.

I don't want my brother to get hurt, but,

My Mummy says he'll be alright.

Oooooh, Mummy' back, but she doesn't look too well,

She stumbles up the steps, I don't know why she's dizzy.

I can't help her though 'cause I'm stuck up here.

But it doesn't matter, 'cause I know what she'll say,

My Mummy says she'll be alright.

So I sit down and think about things...

I'm not smart at school, my class mates call me dumb,

My Daddy's always mad, even at my Mum.

I'm always feeling hungry, there;s never food at home,

So I steal sweeties, I'm used to doing things on my own.

I can never play with my brother, he's never around anymore,

My neck hurts from where Daddy grabbed me, it stings and feels raw.

Mummy's not herself, she's got lots of funny coloured drinks,

She's always tipsy and says silly things, when she kisses me her breath stinks.

And so I sit here alone,

Wondering if Mummy was wrong.

Wondering, just wondering,

If things really will be alright...

Thanks to anyone who reads all this, please leave a comment, or tell me how to improve it 'cause only just wrote it this morning, criticism is accepted, so long as it's constuctive. Thanks =) x

So you know when you see guys/girls in the street/park/town etc and you think they look really attractive and you wanna go make friends with them but you don't have a clue what to say? Please give me tips on how to introduce myself and the best sorta things to say and moves to make. Thanks =) x

just curious really...