"Why?"The word that pops into my head every day. Why? I don't know. Maybe I'm thinking about past experiences. My life. Being depressed. Everything. Nothing. I don't know.People tell me I say 'I don't know' too much. But I don't care. Why should I? There it is again. Why?The five Ws. It was always the fifth. Who. What. Where. When. Why. Number five. But then 'How' would pop up just to make sure that Why wasn't stuck on th...

"You got what for my mother?"Nick nodded. He turned to his window.I pulled softly at a clump of his brown hair. "Why?"He turned back and sighed with a small grin. "It's completely unexpected, so I thought, 'Hey, why not?'""You are strange," I said with the utmost seriousness.He made a weird face and turned back to the window.I poked his back. When he did not flinch, I poked him harder."D'you want to know what I got for yo...

School. Teachers were stupid. Homework was stupid. Everything's stupid when you're a teenager.Especially when they tell you to 'think about thinking'.Sure, some people might find it interesting. But I didn't. it seemed pointless. Why think about thinking when you can just think anyway? I would get stuck in this horrible, endless loop, thinking about thinking about thinking. Being a pretty depressed teenager, I would grumb...

Greendale Primary was a school where nothing bad ever happened. Everything was good. Most of the teachers were loved by all the pupils. But there was no teacher like Mr Morrison. Mr Morrison was an art teacher. He told the children that there was no point in having an art lesson if you just wrote. And so his classroom was full of projects that classes were working on. It was the best room in the school, most people said....

‘Twas a special day When throughout the town Nobody went around with a frown The ribbon was red To be cut, ‘twas said The mayor arrived in his fancy car So he could be seen from afar He went up to the new, big shop The sign was glowing, over the top The giant scissors were handed over Little girls threw petals and clover ‘Twas a day to be celebrated, no? The business around was in full flow But they were not to celebrate...

I run home after my dayI run back home for tea.The kettle is on, I kick off my shoesA plate full of biscuits awaits me.I examine the beauty of the single plateI hear my joy inside me, screamMy eyes scan the chocolate chip cookiesAnd the humble custard cream.My thoughts are jumbled - which should I choose?From my tea I take a swigJaffa Cakes, or the beautiful roll;Golden pastry with a sundried fig?Jammy Dodgers, Pink Panth...

Cass was lying on her bed, looking up at the ceiling. It was summer, and she’d been looking forward to it, but this year, there was nothing to do. She heard her parents’ footsteps as they came up the stairs, so she slid under her duvet. The door opened and in walked her father, followed by her mother. Let me take a minute to tell you a bit about Cass. She was a seven year old girl who had flame coloured hair and sparkling...