Literature

Broadland Street
The Key
The Perfect Christmas
In One Brief Moment
Platform 15
Mrs Sanderson
The Release

'In One Brief Moment'

Tim was a hopeless case, shunned by his classmates, rebuked by teachers, a constant source of amusement for all concerned. With no determinable future, he was on a path to oblivion; at least that was his misconception. Made to sit in front of goodie-two-shoes Kennedy, he hated English. He'd much rather be concentrating on Mathematics, his real friend. The numbers, formula and equations had a profound authority on such a persuasive adolescent, especially their beautiful patterns of complexity. He never let on of course, of his particular talent or portent to study, alone at night for hours on end, constantly doodling, testing, and pushing the boundaries of his mind. It was harder in class to remain silent and be distant, but in the evening, it became a much more selfish thing as the particular cravings had now taken over his life. The compression algorithms were the best, deep, engrossing mathematical symmetries involving Binary Node Trees. ''Master these'', he thought and nobody would ever again call him the speccy-eyed, frog-boy (Timothy had huge, bulging bug eyes, so pronounced you almost wanted to reach up and pluck the little buggers right out of their sockets). By completing this one feat, he would command so many powerful things. People would offer him respect, even adulation, but most of all and more importantly, he would achieve an inner calm. A satisfactory piece of the puzzle would be put in place and he could then get on with the rest of his life in soluble tranquillity, revelling in his astonishing accomplishment. At least that's what he thought.

Chantelle was a horny bitch. John winked at her from the back of the class. ''Man, she is fit'', he thought casting a sideways glance towards Sally, who was also trying to gain his attention. He gave her the nod and then settled back again, concentrating all his efforts on the strawberry blonde. Her skin was bronzed and the highlights that fell upon its surface twitched ever so daintily, as if they were dappling a beauty that rare, they dare not quite touch. What he would give to stroke that tiny neck or run his fingers through her soft, fair hair.
''John! Are you paying attention?'', Miss Lington was staring at him with maddening intent.
''Of course Miss.'', John replied instantly, he thought it easier to placate her, she had an awful temper and he did not wish to feel her hand, not with Chantelle looking so gorgeous. He would need the whole lesson to absorb that beauty and could not risk being sent out.
''Good'', said Barbara, ''And if we are all now ready, then let us begin!''.

Samuel was disabled, he'd lost the use of his legs after a lorry trashed his Fathers Mercedes and pinned him to the roadside. He sat there stabbing a pencil through the trouser material trying to imagine the pain. The schoolteacher was talking, but he did not hear the words, instead Sam (as he liked to be known) played truant inside a mind of computer games, popcorn and videos, oh and Sally Whittaker, he worshiped Sally. Today, Sally was sitting on his knee and giving him sweet kisses, while he fought off world domination from a rubbery half-breed on his play-station. He felt her warmth, her breath, but as he played he also felt a tremor, some form of underground vibration. He began to shake violently, the pencil broke suddenly and a nasty streak of rouge trickled down his leg. Sally wasn't happy and the warm droplet seemed to take an eternity to fall to the floor. Then he heard the loud, high-pitched whistle and everything went black.

The windows came through first, that is after the initial shrieking noise and low frequency shockwave. One by one, they imploded, sending vicious shards of deadly icicle-shaped glass flying through the air. A large flake caught Ellis Brown, the classroom prefect, high in the sternum, spinning him around like a spurting top. He shrieked in despair and then fell to the ground in pieces. Mrs Lington was in shock, staring out towards the top-field with her mouth agape. Some kids were already on their feet. Samuel couldn't get to his feet and collapsed in his wheelchair. Johhny Burrows leapt towards Chantelle, but he never made it as a girder caved in the back of his head, knocking the sodden mess that was left of him into Sally who simply closed her eyes and screamed. Timothy however, was on the ground, crawling. He remembered his last jottings, mathematical ramblings written on an insignificant scrap of paper by his bed and how he'd signed it to his Mother, just in case something like this ever happened. He wondered if she would ever find it. Then, the ceiling fell in, asbestos a long time hidden splintered out into the room and dust welled up engulfing the still living. Manic screaming gradually gave way to the deep blast as all sound became one, huge booming crescendo.

No one really took much notice of me after I left Hospital. People didn't treat me that different. Maybe the odd, ''Ah, bless him'' and ''My, you are looking well'', but that's it about it. I went on television once, but it didn't go down well. It wasn't that it upset me, oh no, I am hardened now, I just couldn't face the patronising interviewer or the collection of assorted freaks, eager to pick up on anything I uttered and spin it around, throwing it back at me. You probably understand anyway, most people do, so I will not go on any further, but I must thank you for your time and your patience. The paragraph above is the only account of what happened that dark afternoon. My name's Frank, by the way and I am the sole survivor of the bombing at Ridgewater High, 4 April 2009. I was seventeen yesterday.

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