Tailspin May 08

8/14/2019 Tailspin May 08

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Yellow

Rat-Tamusz


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Introduce Ourselves 4.

Interview - Paul Tinworth 6.

VelvetLungs

Stills Competition 12.

CheekyChen 16.

Videos Competiton 1

Story Board - Animuser 20.

Music Competition 22.

Robyn Jones - No Sun to Warm Our Hearts 24.Daniel Grosvenor - Dont Drink The Water (Chapter) 26.

Tade - Bone Fragments 28.

Syd - Refection: A Novel (Chapter One) 32.

Taymaz Valley - Butterfies 36.

Pete - When I am Tired 40.

Applause-Junkie - Topaz Prologue 42.

Wirrow - Some Late Night Thoughts 44.

Fern Yates - Teddy & Francis 46.

Rosiemarie Short - New Forest 1992 52.

Luke Rowett - My Legacy 54.

Haiku Off 56.

Robyn Jones - The Writer Back

Contents

3.You I Know The Reason Why by LoveWhenYouLove - Megan


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Introduce Ourselves

Ch...ch...changesLast month we decided that it made sense to have one site for writers,musicians and artists and so it has been a bit of a wrench for our writerswho were on a different site. Thankfully most of them are really pleasedto now be on tailcast given the quality of the community here and it isgreat to see the interaction between artists and writers. Watch out for

Junes special Collaborate competition where we will be looking to pairup artists, musicians and writers to create new videos (with some prizesthrown in of course).

4.

Beach Kissing - Oliver Day

Pete Oli Jon CheekyChen

Welcome to the rst edition Tailspin, the monthly magazine for the online

community for artists at tailcast. This months Tailspin features some of

the best work from our writers, musicians, video makers and artists inMarch & April 2008.

Tailcasting is all about throwing out your creative work and seeing whathappens. As the site develops we are looking forward to getting to knowyou more and letting you know a bit about ourselves (we have to throw itout too!). The Cast comprises Jon, Olli, Paul and Pete (see mugshots). Youcan get a bit more info on each of individually here.

Our goal is to create a brand new community site where you are dened

only by what you do (and not what you say or think about yourself). Wewant Tailcast to be a shiny new playground for you creative people tohang around in, publish your work, collaborate on projects and createyour own communication channels (much more on this in the future...)and generally have fun whilst making some money from your creative

output.


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Paul TinworthRamblings of a Lightstalker

Who or what have you sacriced for the sake of your art?

Time! Always make time for the things you enjoy. (Im fairly certainmoney comes into it as well...)

What was the last arts event you enjoyed?

Seeing Shakespeares Twelfth Night and Gilbert and Sullivans HMSPinafore in an open-air theatre. Theatre isnt normally my thing, butI loved it! Im afraid I havent been to any photographic exhibitions

yet, but I plan to change that soon.

Whats the greatest threat to art today?

Im not sure what applies to art in general, but I share the concernthat photographers and enthusiasts are being discriminatedagainst by those paranoid about terrorism. I havent been affectedpersonally yet, but Im not looking forward to the day it happens.

Who would you most like to work / collaborate with? (tailcastmember or otherwise)Therere so many people joining Tailcast that I cant really do allof the good photographers justice, but just off of the top of myhead, I wouldnt mind if Amy Jenkins taught me something aboutoff-camera ash, SR took me to some of his fantastic locations,

and Carrie and Trisha Rolph showed me how to make the most of

capturing animals!

Name/screenname Paul TinworthBorn/Home Born in Essex, currently living between South Walesand Cornwall (United Kingdom)Career/about me Undergraduate student, former sailinginstructor, and amateur photographer

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Is there an art form you dont enjoy?

In all honesty paint has never has any effect on me. I have respectfor those who paint, but I just cant get excited about it. Differentstrokes for different folks (pun intended).

What would you like to see in the future from Tailcast (on a broadernote, what are your thoughts on social networking sites for creatorsin the arts?)

Im looking forward to a more intuitive, social Tailcast thats slightlymore friendly to the eye and cursor, but my main concern isdevolving the stills category; there are so many talented folks herethat it just doesnt seem to do them justice to lump all the aestheticarts under one heading.

I am a fan of social networking as a whole; I think its possibly oneof the better inventions the internet has spawned in the last few

years. I am an avid Facebook-whore, but I really do want to seeniche networks for the artistic community. Hopefully Tailcast willspearhead the charge!

How did you discover your talent for art, what do you enjoy about it?

Thereve always been cameras in the background for me, butit wasnt until a year after I bought my rst digital and lm SLR

cameras that I really began to appreciate photography. At the risk >>

The Red October @ Cardiff Bary I - Paulish


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>> of sounding vain (despite the fact I dont own a comb), I am extremelydriven by aesthetics, and to have a medium introduced to me where I couldrecord and manipulate the way things appear to me was and still is veryseductive. Going shooting throws me into such pleasurable concentration thatit becomes a form of escapism for me. Event photography especially makesme excited because it exposes me to challenging environments and people,and while I am very shy and usually too polite to push about at a noisy gig, Idont think I would enjoy it as much if I didnt have my camera on hand.

I could mention the clichd drivel about capturing Cartier-Bressons decisivemoment, which by all means has its own appeal, but I honestly just enjoytaking photographs. Whether I have talent or not is debatable, but I certainlyhave no intention of giving photography up any time soon.


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Youve mentioned Cathal McNaughton, an award winning pressphotographer on your Tailcast homepageWhat is it about his workthat appeals to you?

Truth be told I know very little about the man, but I stumbled acrossa small selection of his work on the BBC News website and instantlyliked it. It amazes me how he manages to bring such vivid artistryinto a profession dominated so ercely by objectivity; two particular

shots in my mind are of a group of three soldiers silhouetted by thesun and the reection of Big Ben in a puddle, naturally framed by the

legs of two walking Londoners. I admire the fact that he managesto bring a great deal of taste into potentially touchy subjects,which I feel is hard to come by with the prevalent nationalism andIslamaphobia in the UK.

Patriot - Paulish


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2.


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I dont knowI dont know anyone heremy lips are brightI can only feel the weight of color all around meribcage, soul suspended in the space betweena liver soaked in alcohol and lungson the baptism listsigned, mr. and mrs. applicable.forget me. forget the stinging hazel/curtain lashesbatted/batting/playful/de speratetheres a hole that drains the tiger and clover elds

with an assertive, no, thank you, young girl in my bed,clothed only in the static of her hair.

river of blonde girls,skin ripening and spoiling in a orescent merciless haze.

prayer and worship and bake and self-mutilationthis unknown omnipotent God in a bottle of tanning oil.I want to snow on you. a painless, quick frostpale pink and shimmering on a tree that sings for you.blood whispers, disease embedded, ready for child.

motherless, you were an idea.you were my caption for twelve secondsI want a God who writes me lullabies to the rhythm in my veins.Collaborate, procrastinate, impregnate the soil with times new roman, extra-boldwho circumcised my roots?

lay with me in april grass.

Jabez and the Grocery Store Popstar

VelvetLungs

11.Left - Lazersnow - VelvetlungsRight - got a light? - Velvetlungs


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Stills

New Stuff 359ManDartin


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13.

OriginalElliott Boswell


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.Carolyn


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what colour are you?


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Video - Make ArtCheekyChen

Here is the nal edit of the opencollaboration I organised acouple of months ago over onYouTube. I started the projectbecause YouTube fail to have avideo category dedicated to Art.To me, this is just plain ignorant,

as Art has such an impact onevery one of us, whether werealise it or not. It is so deeplyrooted in all of our cultures, thatto ignore its existence on suchan inuential website is actually

suppressing Artists and makingit a lot more challenging for us to

connect with our audience andmeet other Artists.

So I recorded and posted [a verydodgy] video on the spur of themoment, inviting everyone andanyone to make a one minute

video clip that incorporatedthe words MAKE ART. I wascompletely overwhelmed whenI received over 350 videos, andended up leaving my job to putthe edit together. It took me aweek, and I managed to include102 video clips. The video gotfeatured on the homepages of 4different countries and has been

viewed over 100,000 times to date, yet still YouTube havent given usour category.

Luckily for me, [and other Artists], Tailcast came along to full allour needs, and as soon as I found the site I had to get involved. Iemailed Pete with a whole load of feedback on how Id like the siteto function, and two months down the line, here I am heading upcommunity and running various creative projects with you guys!So I guess what Im trying to say, is that this video has had amassive impact on my life, and will hopefully be a seed from which amighty Tailcast can grow!

Much love, cheekychen x

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2D mixed media animated music video about a small girl who wantsa more colourful life than routine and work. Created at NorwichSchool of Art and Design as my nal major project. Music by Tim

Davis

Gobblynne - Gobblynne Animation

Videos

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Painting a Painting Salt Water

Micheal Shapcott

art vlog

velvetlungs

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Story BoardFlies are ace!

Animuser

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Music

Elora Dannon

Elora Dannon is/are Tommy and Steve... They havebeen writing songs together since 2003... Theyhave compiled 4 albums to date, with another inproduction... Tommy currently lives in New Zealand,

and Steve in Mexico... Thanks for listening...


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Cheesyngers

My Name is Robert Waddell, formerly Pyatt. I ama 40 yr old, Singer Songwriter, Musician, AmateurPhotographer,Artist..Father, Grandfather, Husband,Brother, Cousin, Son,...I am a father of a 16 yr old girland a 11 yr old boy and a 10 yr old boy and a 23yrold man now.I am also a grandfather of a 1yr old boynamed Jordan..

40 yrs old...I have been playing guitar and writingsongs for about 30yrs.

Elliott Boswell

You dont have to have a background in art history orformal training to appreciate art, I says Elliot Boswell,Boswell Gallery owner in Decatur, Ga . Making art

available to all is central to his philosophy on sharingthe beauty of art.

Dancing Feet - Annie Taylor


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We are cautiously stepping across the arctic glaciers. The rocksin the sea capped with ice make a passage- where to, none of usknow. We just understand following the path is right, why we exist.We climb over them, concentrating on the rock before us. Smallsteps or we will fall into the freezing water around us. As we pausefor breath, and look around us. Ocean everywhere, deep blue,almost black. The sky is frost white, cloudless and bare. No sign of

the sun to warm our cold hearts. No life except ours. We have beenstranded, forgotten. I smile. Forgotten. Hysteria sets in, as the coldand the emptiness of our surround close in.My school friends are frozen still, their faces showing a dreamy look.Their minds are far away, no longer conscious, yet in the positionsthey were before. I am the only one who watches as the dark waterbegins to stir in the distance, and I turn to watch. Rock rises from

the water, higher and higher it reaches. A mountain-like collection of

stone has appeared, now bold and solid. Behind a grey and brownboulder, three boys appear as specks, scrambling to reach theother side. My friends unfreeze, and stare at the boys. They are notshocked or surprised; they have a glazed look on their face, almostbored. The silence is piercing, ringing in my ears. The boys turn andsee us. They wave, and swim across the water to reach us. Theyclimb the rocks on which we stand, and join us as we travel.

As we clamber up the jagged stone, we see a wooden cart on tracks

No Sun to Warm Our HeartsRobyn Jones

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and a tunnel, like a mine. We approach it and the arctic scene fadesaway. We are in darkness. The only thing illuminated is the tunneland cart. Now we are closer, it takes the form of an old fairgroundride, a ghost train. The tunnel entrance was an arch with a paintedsign. The paint had faded, and the sign looked at least fty years

old. The ride was clearly abandoned, dusty and in need of repair.We felt drawn to the cart, and without thinking, we boarded it. As we

did, it began to move. It started slowly, and then gathered speed.We moved in darkness, the dust overwhelming our senses. Therewas a smell of burning, but no re. As the cart twisted out of control

ricketing down the never ending tunnel along the wooden track,the darkness was softened as a candle-like light spread around thetunnel. We watched as old paintings of clowns and circus animalsappeared on the walls. And a slow, steady tune grew into the scene.It was striking-pipes played a fairground tune. And the cart wentfaster, the lighter ickered quicker, the song gathered pace. And

the cart grounded to a halt. A boy with a mans face stood holding atorch. His monotone voice lled the tunnel.

Thank you for riding your soul. This way please.The ghost walked towards a ladder. We climbed obediently. As wereached the top, a blinding light surrounded us. And then we werefalling. Falling.

Pier - Daniel Tyrell

Th il d Ch t 1


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Organic stairwell to Innity - CheekyChen Waterfall, Scotland - Lucy Rolph

Dont Drink the Water

My mothers voice echoed around my head.

Whatever you do, dont drink the water. Its the single most

dangerous thing out there.

We werent sure why, but we were being chased by men with guns.

Fresh-faced backpacker virgins, clutching everything they own

in easily stealable rucksacks, are easy prey in any country and

robbing tourists is a rst-come-rst-served market. Theyd spotted

us getting out of the cab and had given chase before wed closed

the door. There were around twelve of them: drunk, frenzied Thais

in masks, their dress a menacing amalgam of tribal warriors and

Calvin Klein models. Designer jeans below mud-spattered bare

chests adorned in hand-crafted jewellery. If it had happened to

someone else I would have stopped and stared at these artistic

madmen, but as it was, they were clutching weapons and heading

straight for us. Realising we were about to be beaten and robbed,

we grabbed our backpacks and ran out into the road. Id been in

the country thirty minutes and had already done enough to give mymother a seizure.

Thailand: Chapter 1(Intro/Dont Drink the Water)Daniel Grosvenor


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Bone Fragments


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Bone Fragments

I used her brand new kitchen set, except it was not brand new. Itwas forty years old.

It was new forty years ago, a wedding present that Clare and Idecided not to open until we moved into a proper house, one thathad a proper kitchen. The kitchen set knives

were stainless steel, high gauge, powerful grips, shiny. They had an

electric sharpener and magnetic rack. Youd think for the work athand the meat cleaver would be best. It was not.

There was only one bone left. It was twenty-two centimeters long,which, from my studies, was just below the average length for aright humerus. The left humerus had gone 153 days ago. I couldnow comfortably say that a murderers carcass takes 402 days to

dispose of.

It was tiring, frustrating work when I started. At rst I tried the meat

cleaver, but it wrecked my shoulders and elbow joints, me not beinga professional butcher. Then I tried one of those electric blades withtwo serrated edges and a vibration that rivals the highest setting onthe spin drier. Good for soft tissue, but useless on bone.

I never remarried because who do you marry after Clare? She waslight and darkness in equal measure, the embodiment of that Yin-yang symbol you see everywhere. I lived with her for three weeks,and that waswell, that was enough.

Tade

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29.

A cut along the head of the humerus opened the cavity, where thebone marrow used to be, which was now home to the foulest ofodors, swiftly yanked upwards by the extractor fan in my kitchen.There were probably easier ways to have done this, but none thatwould give me half the satisfaction. Somewhere in the aether thismans soul wafted back and forth, or he was in hell or purgatory orwherever putrid lives went in his chosen religion. I often wished hewould come back as a ghost so that I could torment him.

I had assurances about that; the living can torment the dead.

We did many things, Clare and I. What I missed the most was hernuzzling my neck from behind while I cooked.

I imagined she would have done that while I created bone

fragments.

heartache - horrorshock666


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Kiing - Reid Sumner


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Fionion

Reection: A Novel (Chapter One)


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I took a deep breath, taking in the fresh air of the early morning. Thebright sun had barely peeked over the mountaintops and I did nothave to use my ashlight anymore.

Every morning I got up around ve and walked about a half a mile

behind my house to the Magnolia Grove (I just called it the Grove).

Magnolia trees were lined up in countless perfect rows. This wasthe best time to goin the very early morning, when the rst rays of

sunlight shone between the thick, mysterious branches and throughthe translucent, bowl-shaped leaves. So beautiful was the sight, itnearly cast an eerie feeling.

As I thought about the strange dreams that haunted me almostevery night, I racked my brain for something to write about. As I

realized I had nothing to write about, my poetry journal fell frommy hands and tumbled to the ground. Everything had already beenwritten by others before me.Things unknown to man I tried to give myself a boost. Unknownwhat do we not know about? What do we not see?We do not

see I whispered to the tree, Air. Air cannot be seen by anyone.Suddenly the urge to write the poem overcame me, so I swungonto another branch protruding from the one I sat on, and droppedto ground eight feet below. While I climbed back up into the tree Ithought about the words that would be on the paper as soon as Ipulled the pencil from my sloppy ponytail.I situated myself on another branch, higher than the rst time, and

this time about halfway up the tree. My poem-tree, I thought happily,leaning my head back on the smooth bark of the Magnolia. Do yougive me the power to write?

More questions hit me. Id have to make a list.Magnolia, who has sat upon your branches? I jotted it down on the

pad. What words have been exchanged here? Has anyone cared

Reection: A Novel (Chapter One)Syd


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about you as I have? When were you planted, and by whom? The

words couldnt get onto the paper fast enough. Are there carvingsbeneath your esh, perhaps put there by lovers who spent their last

moments here? Has anyone or anything fallen from your limbs?

I grinned to myself. This was brilliant. The series on the Poem-Tree.The Magnolia. And it was all mine.Then I laughed. Not a chuckle or a giggle, but a loud, joyful, musicallaugh that echoed around the Grove and resonated through the coldair. This was all too good to be true. The treesthey had a power oftheir own!

The power of trees, I whispered, and added it to the list. Theseare all unknown to man. But what of nature? What have we not

discovered? I contemplated this thought for a few minutes, and

when I was unable to come up with an answer, I simply addedit to the list written in my brown leather journal. The questionsand poems on the pages inside were my life. They contained myfeelings, my stories, my past, and hopefully my future.Yet I had no one to share them with but the trees.I sighed sorrowfully, wishing there was someone here with me, toshare dreams with and talk about other things. But since there wasno one, even at school, I took in the cool air and made a mental listof the small things I was thankful for.I must make the best of things.This is what I would do.

And I laughed again.

My mind still in the Grove, I slammed my locker shut and droppedmy science books. I knelt to gather them and when I came back up,a girl was in my face. It took a moment for me to realize it was theclass weirdo, Jewel.Hey, she said softly.Hi, I replied, a bit confused. How areyou?

Good. Great. Better than ever, since I nished my book last night. I

wasnt reading it. I was writing it.Ohgood. I couldnt think of anything else to say. >>

Hiding Tree? - Syd 33.

>> Yeah. Guess how long it is? Its 302 pages long.


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My eyes were the size of plates probably. Seriously?

She nodded. You can read it if you want.Jewel didnt sound weird when she said that. I saw past her greencolor contacts, frizzy brown hair, and somewhat baggy clothes, and

saw a caring fourteen-year-old who, like me, had nobody to talk to.Sounds great. Whats it about? I hoped it was the kind of books Iread, and not an autobiography or something like that. We began towalk down the hall.Well, theres this girl whos about our age. She almost dies in are, and all her siblings and parents die, so shes the only one left.

She has burns (like third-degree ones) all over her, and she has noidea how she survived. She cant let anyone see her, because shedoesnt want anyone to ask her questions or arouse suspicion. Thenshe gures out she has re powers. So long story short, she nds

out that someone purposefully set the house on re, and she goes

to a school for people like her to train, and she goes off to nd this

person and kill them.That sounds really good. Wow. That is so cool. When can I read it?

I can bring it tomorrow.

Great! I wondered if I was actually getting excited. We can meetout front after school?

Sure. I never do anything after school. Nobody, welleveryoneseems to always be busy. Was it my imagination, or did she soundsad?

Me neither. I usually go to No. I cant tell anyone about theGrove. Well, I usually just write poetry and do boring stuff.No way! I love to read poems, Jewel exclaimed.Awesome! We can trade?

Denitely. Hey, Im at my class now, so Ill see you tomorrow.

Okay, bye Jewel.She smiled. Bye Rose.

I have made my rst friend since we moved here, I thought happily.

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CypressCree

k,

LandOLakes,

Florida

-Armida

Short Story - Butteries


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Short Story ButteriesTaymaz Valley

I was sitting in my badly lit room, with a glass of red wine, smoking my tenth cigarette of the day. Ihad already nished a bottle, and I was into my second bottle of Pinot Noir. Jean-Dominique Baubys

celebrated novel was in front of me half open, half read. I wanted to savour every word of that torturedman, so magnicently written, so immaculately described. In my drunken haze, I had let my mind wander

off to that great city of lights Paris, picturing Seine, strolling around the Luxembourg Garden, visitingOscar Wilde in Pere Lachaise Cemetery and telling him that he was right about Love; when all of a

sudden, out of nowhere, appeared this small buttery, coloured with the same splendour of a rainbow. Itcircled my room a few times, getting a feel for the place, seeing everything so familiar and unbearable tome, anew and fascinating. I watched it in amazement, bewildered by the fact that no window was openin our small house, and I had the curtains drawn as I had come to despise sunlight.

Yet, this papillon had appeared in my room. In my room which smelt of melancholy and despair, in whichI had been imprisoned by a self convicted solitary connement sentence, enforced by my own sense

of contempt for this wretched, unfair world, occupied by uncouth, conniving men. The buttery nally

and nonchalantly landed on my half open copy of The Diving-Bell and the Buttery, and at rst theimportance of this ironic coincident was lost on my then numbing mind, full of sorrow and self loathing. Istared blankly at the scene for a few minutes, in trance. In transit from Paris. And, nally a knowing smile

found its way across my lips. For you see, that buttery had reminded me of she.

She, who had been part of me for a short period of pure joy and happiness. She whose body I madeinseparable from my own for as long as I could. She, who had made my life meaningful, even for a short

while. She who by leaving had made me attempt my own death, as the idea of being without her haddriven me insane. I shall not tell you her name, simply because her name would not inspire the sameemotions, lest you have experienced her love like I have. She does not belong to this world with itsbenighted worldly problems. What importance is a name, unless you are able to catch her attention,so that you could at least nd a meaning to this insignicant life. No, she shall remain nameless, for

you see, her name meant much more to me than just a meaningless unappreciated label. It would bewrong and dirty to separate her from my own thoughts. And now, even though she has gone, and weare physically apart, her memories and sprit are still one with my own, and I am going to try and put towords the signicance of that spring day.


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embraced it with open arms.No one had prepared me for such heart wrenching experiences as endings are and inevitably all good


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No one had prepared me for such heart wrenching experiences as endings are, and inevitably all goodthings must end. Our ending began with a letter which offered an opportunity to work alongside some ofthe great minds of the twenty rst century; something which was everything she aspired to. Something

that an ordinary, inadequate mind like mine would never comprehend. This was a chance for her to be

somebody, who is admired by many successful men; and my dreamy beggared admiration for her wasjust too insignicant at that moment, and it did not sufce. I begged her to stay, knowing deep down sheshould be more. I knew I could not give her a life betting an angel. I knew then and know now, that I will

never be able to live a comfortable life, and be able to easily provide for another.

So, I had to let her go, whether I liked it or not. I was ended with. Tossed aside, and buried miles underthe clouds where I had been so bold to reach. I was once again where I belonged, down on earth withother mortals, some of whom I dare not call human. Down in the mud, tasting dirt, crushed by the weightof daily struggles. She was gone within a week, leaving me in charge of our small at. The place becamea nightmarish space, with bare walls and haunting memories. I drank myself to sleep every night for aweek. Refusing to eat, refusing to go out. Bitter tears fell from my eyes. Sadness engulfed my body,

gnawing at my esh till solitude lled me in.

After a week, I could not recognise myself in the mirror anymore. All that was left of me was a blurredimage of a broken man. I decided that I did not want to be part of this world anymore. I could see no

chance of improvement, no light in the distance. My purpose, so bound to her, was then pointless andinsincere. How could I live knowing that I would never be happy, never feel the same. So, I decided toend my life; end it with extreme prejudice; end it as easily as she had ended with me.

I opened the at window, and stepped onto the edge. I lit my cigarette, and inhaled as hard as I could,

letting those smoky ngers caress my lungs. I dropped the cigarette, and watched it make its freefall till

it disappeared from my vision. Tears gathered in my eyes, even though I tried to resist it. My mind startedwandering off. I started picturing her and me, just being together, and my body let out a cry previously orsince unheard. In that moment, nostalgia took a hold of me, and all I could do was to picture London, myhome. I could see the street that I had grown up in, with its shops and houses. I could hear sounds oflaughter and birds. The sun had come out, and its heat warmed my battered face. I thought it wrong toend my life in that strange city. I did not belong there. It wasnt home. So I climbed back into the room,and sat on the oor, wiping the tears from my eyes. I came to the conclusion that I should return to

England, and let my fate be decided.

That spring day, was four years and three month after I had returned to London. And I had spent itthinking of her. I used to walk around London, just watching people. I used to see her face reected

on others. I would walk up to strangers and asked them whether they had seen my love. I spent hours38.


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Poem -

Wh I d d


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When I am TiredWhen I am dead

Bury meBeneath a tree

Then shall my soulAt last take root

Keep most peopleAway from me

Just a clearing

Where the windWill whisperForget-me-nots

And the rainTo cleanse me

& befriend me

I will eatThe sun

And be fullWith my breath

And the earthBeneath my feet

OrJust let me sleep

Such blessed relief

Pete

Atsocstretch - Rhonda R. Carpenter40.


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41.Wolf-Licking Red - Amy AbbottSwing - Constance

Chapter - Topaz - Prologue


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Applause-Junkie

A cold wind surged up to greet me as I teetered over the edge ofthe icy stone wall. I shuddered, but embraced the cold. The altitudewas dizzying, but all fear dissolved as I surveyed the terric beauty

of the wilds of Nav below me. With its sloping green hills and gentlytrickling streams, like slivers of the purest silver from my place onthe ledge, it appeared to be a place of the greatest harmony. I couldsee far beyond the connes of Ellemera Academy, as far off as the

dense, menacing splendour of the notorious Monsoon Woods.The piercing cry of an eagle sliced through the deafening silence,almost knocking me over.But as I stumbled, my heart remained still. There was nothing to fearfrom the altitude. I gazed up into the azure skies above me, clearerand more vibrant than I had ever before witnessed, and knew thatthat was where I belonged.The eagle screamed again, and I saw its black silhouette cut through

the air. I envied its grace, its fearsome beauty. To y, to roam theeverlasting, unchanging expanse that stretched over and above allelse, would be an honour.I glanced behind me, and thought of the small stone room where Ihad spent my last eight years. Imprisoned. I was meant for moreSo much more. The sky seemed to call out to me, pleading with me


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to spread my wings and escape the boundaries that had gripped mealmost all my life.

A gure shot into the sky from the density of Monsoon Woods, Too

human to be a bird, yet with two majestic wings of the deepestebony. The gure soared towards me at an amazing speed,

uninching. I wanted to join it leap from the balcony and soar, but

something was holding me back. I had to break away. I had to.

Another gust of wind surprised me, knocking my off my balance.But this time came a fear. The very real fear of falling from the sill,plummeting down past the electrifying beauty of Nav to land, acrumpled pile of broken bones. I couldnt y. Deep down in my heart

I knew I couldnt.Desperately I scrambled to regain balance, but it was no use.In an instant, my feet left the safety of the stone window ledge, and Ibegan to fall. Icy wind rushed by my cheeks, as adrenaline pumped

through my veins. The insurmountable terror building, the earthbelow was drawing closer by the second. I could almost hear theinevitable clunk as I hit the groundBut still I fell, further, faster, until

Gulls Waiting - Craig Carter 43.

Blog - Some Late Night Thoughts


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Wirrow

pieces of a shattered objectcoming to life for revenge,

peoples private thoughtsappearing in bubbles abovetheir head,

random 3d geometric shapesoating through a forest,

butteries misguidedly falling in

love with uttery bits of paper in

the wind,

tiny people inside my tv,

vomiting actually being anoccasion of splendor and beautyand is received with applauselike a well played point in tennis,

cloning myself a hundred times

and killing them in all the violentways like in video games,

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god actually being a bunch ofpeople in suits around a largedesk all shouting out ideasto one guy with a typewriter,like the writers of an americancomedy show,

being too scared to kill ay incase its a reincarnatedfriend desperately trying tocommunicate with me,

elds of rusty old radio antennas

receiving all the celestial signalsof our solar system,

being chased but forgetting howto run,

forgeting to breathe,

parents casually revealing that

they are vampires and my timehas come,

Scatteredlightstill - Wirrow

angels raining down on me tothe sound of cathedral organsand adopting a pose like theshawshank redemption poster,

the president sneezing halfwaythrough addressing the nation

about some global catastrophe,raining upwards,

if everything oated,

opening an old chest and batsy out,

taking a nap on the couch and iwake up oating through space

45.

Short Story - Teddy & Francis


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Fern Yates

He tottered. He stumbled. Landing heavily on his chest with a loudOooooophf. He lay still at last, panting heavily - tiredness waswinning this battle. He had to make it to the lake. The sun was goingdown. Soon neighbourhood cats would be gathering in the park. Atleast on the water, he had a chance.The bull rushes had turned a ery red and poker orange in the

glorious summer sunset. A cool breeze touched his feathers snakingits way over his body around his beak where a piece of glisteningshing line dangled.

Three days had gone by. Three days since Francis had dived for abeautiful looking sh on the lake oor. Three days since he had felt

the cold metal hook lodge itself in his mouth. Three days since hehad last been able to eat. Three days of falling on his chest becauseof shing wire tangled around his feet. His one foot was swollen

now, red and sore. But he just had to make to the lake.

Weakly apping his wings he managed to stand on his one good leg.The water was so close, he could smell it, and he could see it.He tottered. He fell. Landing heavily on his chest with a loudOooooophf.The bush rushes near him rustled then parted.Im done for, thought Francis as he saw the large silhouette emergefrom the plants.

Hallo, barked the new arrival. My names Teddy and Im a Husky.He lowered his front paws as he looked at Francis, his bottomremained in the air as he wagged his uffy tail in the air. Wanna

play? Huh? Huh? Huh? Im a puppy and I love to play?

No, whispered Francis, his throat and mouth was so sore.Whyre you lying on the ground? Ive seen your kind before on my

walks and theyre always on the lake. Whats your name?

Im hurt, cant you see? Francis glanced down at his webbed feet.

Im trying to get to the water, Im Francis, he rasped.Oh I can help you with that, Teddy walked around to Franciss feet

46.


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taking hold of the tangle of shwire around his feet.Whatre you going to do?

Franciss eyes widened in fear.Don worr-ee, Teddy spokebetween gritted teeth. Uhll

jus hull yoo to the water. Heyanked Francis by his feet.No! quacked Francis. Ouch!No uch furer, Teddy growlwith determination. Reaching

the waters edge Teddy releasedhis hold. So hows that? His

tail wagged furiously with pride.I told you I could do it. Wha-

whats wrong?Francis had begun to cry. Bigtears ran down his beak ontothe ground. Thank you.If youre so happy then why areyou crying? Teddy cocked his

head to one side.

Im still trapped in this wire andI cant eat. I cant walk!Teddy sat down next to Francis,a slight scowl on his forehead. Inthe distance a man was calling.Teddy! Teddy where are you?

Come here boy. A high pitchedwhistle reached them both.

I know, Teddy jumped up, tailwagging once again. Ill get >>

Robot Dreams - Jessica Donofrio

>> my owner to help you.Wait! shouted Francis. Imscared of your owner types


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scared of your owner types.They are the ones that left thisstuff I am tangled in now whenthey have been shing?

My owners different, Teddycalled over his shoulder as hedisappeared into the bull rushes.Hes an animal doctor.The sounds of the lakecontinued Francis lay back hishope restored by Teddy.. Ducks

called to one another on thelake, the breeze rustled the bullrushes and the light got dimmer.Francis sighed - this was usuallyhis favourite time of day. Thenhe smelt it. CAT!Well, well what have we here?

The low voice purred. Dinner,Supper.Who are you? Get away from

me? Francis weakly quacked.

Sorry, I cant hear you. TheSiamese cat placed its paw nextto its ear. Cat got you tonguePlease, leave me alone,

Francis begged.The Siamese laughed at her own

joke. Yeeees! Well maybe notyet but very soon I will have yourtongue.Who are you?

Who am I? The cat placed

his paw against his snow whitechest. I am Ming. She showedoff a paw full of razor sharp

Brian the Hawaiian Lion - Kosta


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claws then smiled at Francis.Teddy! he choked. Teddy.

Im afraid your dear sweet Teddy is half way across the park.Francis eyes grew in disbelief. Yeeees! Im afraid so, what dohumans say, out of sight out of mind. Hes on his way home to havedin-dins. Speaking of which Im rather hungry myself. Oh well, it wasnice chatting to you, sorry to be a kill joy but conversation is highlyoverrated at dinner time. Ming placed her paw on Francis chest,closed her eyes and bowed her head. For what Im about to receivemay the Lord may me truly Thank MEIOW. OWOWOW Miaw.

Hiss.Ming had grown to twice her size at the re-emergence of Teddy.Go on, run you fur ball, he barked. Here he is. I told you, I toldyou. Teddy jumped circles around his owners legs.Francis looked up into the face of a kindly man. Well done Teddy.What have we got here boy. Oh dear, you need some tender care.He gently lifted Francis into his arms.

Teddy, where is he taking me, Francis began to struggle.Calm down there, the man crooned. Well just get you sorted outand then well put you back on the lake. Its okay, no one is going tohurt you, youre safe now.Teddy ran at his owners heels. Maybe we can be friends and playtogether when youre better. Hey, hey, waddaya say?

Francis sighed. He felt safe and knew all his pain would soon begone. I guess so Teddy, I owe you big time, he whispered as he

nodded of to sleep in the cradle of the mans arms.

49.


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Wirrow


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Gobblynne

Chapter - PrologueNew Forest - 1992


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New Forest - 1992Rosemarie Short

Her breathing was ragged. The shouts of the enemy were getting closer - and shed run out of placesto hide. Backing away from the entrance of the wooden barn, she pressed herself against the farthestwall, and prayed. Her heart hammered as she heard someone try to open the door. The tugging on thehandle soon turned into banging on the thick wooden door. It would offer her no lasting protection. Theirformidable numbers would guarantee their success in breaking down the door. It was only a matter oftime.Sliding down the wall, she clenched her sts, futilely trying to gather together any last remnant of power

from inside her. She knew it was hopeless. Her powers had long since been used up, towards the middleof the battle. That had been nearly three hours ago now. Squeezing her eyes shut, she willed herself notto think about her husband. Blasted in the back with a bolt of Electric Fire. She had seen him fall, heardhis last whisper of breath

A small spark emerged from her right hand. Barely anything. Despite the desperateness of the situation,she allowed herself a small smile. For three years, she had been one of the best Casters in the entireResistance. Shed trained many young people in the art of discipline, the art of holding something back,

just in case. Now, because she had ignored her own most important lesson, she was going to die.In the back of her mind, there was a small thought which wouldnt go away. She would be glad to bedead. To join her husband, and escape the hell that England had turned into. Hell on Earth. Yet there wassomething which held her back. Something which she felt she had to live for. Her daughter. Alexa wasonly six months old. Shed never know her father, and now, it looked like she were to become an orphan.Tears sprang to her eyes, and she tried to focus on the increased banging on the door, her nal, failing

protection.There was an enormous bang, and the door caught re in several places. Shed wondered how long it

would take for them to use Electric Fire on the door instead of countless pointless Razing Curses. She

carefully pulled herself up from the oor. Her pride wouldnt allow her murderers to see her exhausted

and defeated. She wanted to face them. The door blew off its hinges, weakened by the Electric Fire andRazing Curses, and splintered into hundreds of small pieces. They whizzed towards her, many causing

small cuts all over her body. She didnt inch. For some reason, it was important that she seemed

strong.Five men and two women poured into the barn. They formed a jumbled semi-circle around her, blocking

off the only exit. One of the men stepped forwards, his black eyes glinting with the reections of the re.It looked to her as though he were lled with ames, and she clenched her hands to ght off the fear.

So, he murmured, his voice smooth and calm, This is what the infamous Lianna Hawke has become,he let out a small snarl of laughter, and then continued, I was expecting more. However, sometimesthe reputation of Casters is a mere fabrication. Lianna xed her eyes upon his, and replied with a


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erceness in her voice, You must be used to that kind of thing Aaron. You never were as impressive

in the esh as your brother. Immediately, Lianna knew she had struck a nerve, as she had intended.

Aarons eyes ashed dangerously, and he xed her with a look of pure venom.

My brother, he hissed, Was nothing. He betrayed his cause and showed himself to be what he trulywas. A coward. His death was no loss to me, and even less so to our parents. He breathed carefully,as though releasing his anger, and favouring it for the same cool, composed demeanour as before,continued, However Lianna, enough talk. You surely know you cannot delay your death? You chose the

wrong side and now you must pay the price for it. He walked forward, and threw a bolt of Electric Fireat her. It was strong, but not enough to kill her. Instead, she fell to her knees, biting her lip until it bled soas not to cry out.

Aaron walked forward, and lifted her chin, so that she was looking straight into his cruel, hard eyes. Youshould have stayed, Lianna, he whispered, You should have married me. She looked up at him, andspat in his face. Aaron barely inched. He merely raised his free hand and wiped his face clean. You are

not the man you were Aaron, she gasped, trying as hard as she could to ght the pain, You died

the day you joined. the Government, and now I dont know who you are anymore.He looked at her for a moment more. Behind him, the men and women who had entered with himwere exchanging glances, and some were muttering excitedly. Enough! he shouted, ending allcommunication, verbal or other, behind him. He pushed Lianna away from him, so that she was halflying, half sitting on the oor. He stood before her, staring down at her battered and broken form.

Goodbye Lianna. he murmured. Aaron raised right hand, and from it came a bright light, so brightthose behind him shielded their eyes.Lianna Hawkes last thought was lled with wonderment. For a moment, she thought she had seen the

boy she had rst met when she was eight years old. For a moment, his eyes had softened, and he had

looked as though hefelt something. Some kind of sorrow at her death. However, before she had timeto ponder this, her vision lled with a dazzling light, and she knew no more.

farm - Anirudha 53.


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Silhouettes at a lake - Tim

Poem - My LegacyLuke Rowett


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My inch deep footprints

In sand still soakedStand unbroken.

My path- My long marchDrawn out to seeIndelibly.

The sound of oceansStill echoes, stillBraes for its ll

And my voice risesHarmonises

And falls again.

But tides are still tidesWaves are waves andFootprints cant be saved.

55.

Haiku off


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Japanese dolls - NISHI


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I twist, I turnI search your mind

The Writer by Robyn


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tailcast.com

Billinge(mysister)-Robyn

For that strand of imaginationThat spark of a dream

Which will shape your storyMake your mark on life

Tailspin is copyright of tailcast. All work herein is copyright of the respective tailcast

members. Commercial use, publication or syndication without consent is prohibited.

Tailspin May 08

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