Young Writers Society

Shamus began to stir slowly, his body feeling so heavy and combersome, as if his body was encased in taffy. His own clothes felt so uncomfortable and scratchy, like they were filled with sand and rocks. Opening his eyes at last the clear blue sky above him, that blue that greeted him so softly and sweetly like the hand of a lover on his cheek, so soothing.

Sitting up several things became apparent all at once. Fruitloops began to fall from the air in his vision, wrapped in his long hair, dirtying what had been cleaned but hours before, the box in which the bite-sized pieces had been packed away in stuffed into the front of his pants making it very uncomfortable to move, and a crinkling sound of plastic within his shirt scratching over his skin. On top of fruitloops, was this sensation of heavy steel, which was confirmed the moment his lands lifted to touch his head. Ripping off this strange helmet proved only to add another shower of brightly coloured 'O' to cascade over him.

" What the... oh great! " Shamus cursed, ripping the box from between his legs and hurling it away from himself, standing himself up and ripping the plastic bag from under his shirt out and adding it to the mess upon the ground " When I get ahold of that thing I'll..I'll " Shamus began screaming, shaking what he could from his hair, checking his backpack was still in place before a sudden realisation came over him, chilling him to his very core " My guitar! "

In its place was a sword, the polished steel glinting in the sun, a fine weapon, but it was no guitar, this hunk of metal was not his baby, not his pride and joy. And as the fury climbed, so did the tension within him, his body moving as he snatched up the blade, breathing through gritting teeth, looking around for his precious.

Friday the 13th.

A black cat owned by some grumpy old man's grandson. He has hazel coloured eyes, one of which is lighter than the other. His owner hardly bothers with him, except while feeding left over cereal. Froot Loops to be precise. However, Fri always wanted to taste the Toucan on the carton.
He likes the dirt yet walk with an air of majesty. He is quite intelligent even if he doesn't appear so.

~Marw x

Ooooooo. A story set in hell would be flippin amazing.
The Magical Fariy Of Doom is her title. But she goes by Doom. She's a messenger for her kinda friend Lu aka Lucifer. Doom has an overall decent attitude, she thinks. She has an overall punk looking style.

Terence Crimbleby is an old man who is fairly insane and is preparing for the end of the world. He is two hundred and thirteen and attributes his extremely long lifespan to eating marmite sandwiches for breakfast every day of his life. He believes that any other breakfast alternatives (such as froot loops or porridge) are inferior and looks down on people who eat them with scorn. His sanity started going downhill after his wife Betty died one hundred and thirty four years ago. He is crotchety but fairly harmless, and spends his spare time searching for griffons, as he believes they are the Harbingers of Doom, and if he finds one he might be able to get some warning as to when exactly the apocalypse is going to strike. His muscles are withered and pretty useless so he gets around in a wheelchair modified with a motorbike engine. Despite resembling an albino prune he is very handy with a walking stick if you get on his bad side.

Turbo

Half man, half platypus, Turbo was raised by the llamas and goats of the revered Larry Mountain. Seeing as the society of llamas and goats is a scholarly, intellectual one, Turbo was thrown out at age 13. Now at age 16, outcast by the only family he has ever known, Turbo roams the world as a superhero, ready to defend the innocent and bring justice... to the unjustified! After being told at quite a young age that he was dumber than a moose, he has adopted an active lifestyle in which he is constantly trying to regain the honor of the herd that has forsaken him.

He has the bill and tail of a platypus and can make his normal hands and feet webbed at will. Instead of having fur, he has extremely hairy legs, which makes it slightly painful when he dawns his tights. The magnificent costume in which he fights crime is red and blue, with PTM (acronym for 'Platypus Turbo Man') written in big yellow letters on his chest. In addition, he wears a green cape.

Turbo has two unusual powers. One, he can telepathically communicate with goats and llamas. Two, he can talk like a platypus, though he has no idea what any of it means.

Overall, Turbo is a moron with a big heart who just wants to be loved.

Terence

Slowly, his tired bones creaking, Terence manoeuvred himself into his wheelchair and pressed his foot down on the pedal. The chair zoomed forward, out of the door and onto the street. He cackled as as a balding young man in a business suit dived out of the way, throwing himself into the road. "Look sharp, laddy!" Terence called, grinning as the puce-faced man picked himself up furiously. Ah, nothing like a bit of road rage to get the blood flowing quicker. And these days, that was a necessity for him. If he didn't commit at least one adrenaline-inducing act of cantankerous violence a day, his foot went to sleep. These young people should have been lining up to be thwacked with his walking stick. Keeping up the spirits of the world's oldest man was a privilege. But the youth of today were slackers. Numbing their brains all day long with these computer-doolallies. In his day they had been happy with a scrap of leather and a heap of dung. None of this modern mollycoddling.

Terence veered sharply left, leaning out of the side of the wheelchair to compensate, and skidded round a corner. Today he was exploring a new corner of town where, so rumour had it, there was a tall, tall tree just the kind to contain a griffins's eyrie. Perhaps this would be the day he would finally corner one of the little blighters and weasel some information about the upcoming apocalypse out of it. He was willing to be lenient. He didn't need a specific day, but he wanted the month at the very least so he had time to prepare. Finding the creatures was the most difficult step. After that, extracting the information would be piddlesticks. Terence had centuries of experience and had perfected some very persuasive techniques: he had a stick and he knew where to stick it. Frowning at a crumpled cereal packet lying on the road side - fruit loops! What nonsense! - he sped onwards, deeper into the other side of town.

~Raven~

"Two Four Six Eight! Who do you appreciate?! Raven! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Raven! Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" A blonde girl in a short cheerleader outfit screamed as she did a back tuck. It was Internation Raven Stardust Day and everyone in the world was cheering Raven Stardust.

In India:

"हम रेवेन प्यार करता हूँ! हाँ हम करते हैं! हम रेवेन प्यार करता हूँ! कैसे डटकर तुम?!!!!"

In Egypt:

"Ana habibty Raven! Inti habity Raven! Whoooooooooo!!!"

In Germany:

"Wir lieben Raven! Ja machen wir! Wir lieben Raven! Wie Kampf Sie?"

In France:

"Nous aimons Raven!!! Oui!!! Nous aimons Raven!!! Comment combat-vous?!!"

In China:

"Wǒmen ài wén! Shì de, wǒmen zuò! Wǒmen ài wén! Nǐ zěnme yàng?"

All around the world, everyone was celebrating Raven Stardust. And what was Raven doing right now? Well, of course, saving the children of Africa with manicures! Duh!

Raven had a perfect life, that is until a giant Griffin thing came and picked her up, then plopped down in the middle of nowhere.

Mie just looked at the human as he scuttled about. He was looking with anger and confusion at the sword - understandable. He shook himself like a dog and painsakingly stripped the armour off him. It was only then that she noticed the shadow above her tree. It was a griffin, alright - one of her eyrie. It swooped down low, where the human couldn't see, and dropped something. Was that Raven Stardust??
Mie backed up so much in surprise that she fell out of the tree and landed on something soft that crunched when she landed. The thing cried out in pain. It was the human! And - uh! The crunching noise had come from the Fruit Loops. Eww!

The town was called Lonesome, Colorado. Located in the Rockie Mountains, it was originally settled by trappers. Now, aside from a few pastures, it was a quiet small town that nothing happened to.

Just beyond these pastures, lived Patrus. His eyrie rested inside a large tree that could easily have given birth to all the trees around it. The eyrie was cloaked of course, as was Patrus. Human eyes would not be able to see the opening in the tree, nor would they be able to see Patrus. Other animals could of course, true invisibility was impossible. So it was that from birth to death, gryphons were hidden by magic and had been so for generations.

From his perch, Patrus could see the town and the human inhabitants. They had advanced their technology so much; but no one, not even Patrus who studied them, could determine how effective it was in spotting them. Would a camera be able to capture what human eyes could not see? How about night vision goggles, or thermal cameras?

Nobody knew and that is what worried Patrus.

*Griff talked *coughforcedcough* me into joining*

Carley is a normal human girl, living in what she calls the world of freaks. She believes gryphons exist, but everyone calls her crazy. She just turns to them and asks them what makes them so special. She often has her head in the clouds and is out of focus. She always seems distant and not willing to get close to everyone. She does have a problem with being touched, poked, prodded, held, hit, patted, hugged or anyother form of physical contact.

*Turbo*

Breathing inside a paper bag, Turbo walked along. Of course, he couldn't be a superhero if people constantly pointed at him and gave him strange looks. He had to be loved and adored, or else his herd would never welcome him back! So he had gotten a paper bag out of a trash can and then taped it onto his bill, and made himself some pants that were big enough to tuck his tail inside. Now that his differences were hidden, no one would find him strange! Though he didn't quite manage to grasp the fact that his right leg looked enormously large and misshapen, and that people could make out the shape of his bill inside the bag.

In the act of continuing his search for crime, Turbo saw an old man zooming along in a wheel chair. The elderly person was going way too fast and crazy, he needed help! In goat society, the elderly are treated with the utmost care and respect, so Turbo felt it to be his duty as a living, loving creature to help this man before he died. Turbo began to sprint down the street, waving his arms frantically and hopping slightly in the hopes that someone might see and interpret that the old man was in danger. So, cape flowing in the wind as he ran, Platypus Turbo Man began his quest.

Kandi Hart

Kandi strode through the lightweight curtains and onto the cement balcony. On the thirty-fifth floor, she had an excellent view over the morning city, red rimmed and orange in the dawn. In this bright light her hair shone a sudden and glorious gold and her eyes sparkled, much like a movie heroine. The moment she returned inside, it would dull down to a glossy orange, pushing her eyes firmly into their sockets, where sparkling was frowned upon.

“Mornings like these make the day all the better.” She flicked her telescope out toward the tall spire in the centre of the city. As usual, she saw nothing of particular interest, but the feeling was set in her bones. “We’ll get a nice one today.”

The agency had called the night before, toting the usual fuss and bother about the gryphons invading public domains. “Oh could you please try and catch some other monsters, as well?” Other monsters, really. One does not just go out and catch other monsters, when one is a gryphon hunter, but to the big wigs, the down below in their safe bungalows, this hardly matters.

“Be a pet and catch me some moooore monsters.” She curtsied at the sun and laughed, twirling through the useless curtains and back in to the real world. Her apartment was sparse at the first look, nothing tucked away in the corner or hiding from sight behind the couch. When she pressed the small yellow button on the side table, the cabinet to her left unfolded itself from the wall, opening her weapon cache. Pressing the blue button against the cabinet began the music, a slow ticking which escalated into a thick, pulsing beat. This, she thought, was an excellent start to her morning.

Her name is Tam Arroe. Long brown hair that she usually lets wave around her face, brown eyes and bright red nail-polish on scary-long fingernails. She's sly, a tad seductive and by all means evil. She has an icy heart and a hatered for being ordered around. She likes to be in charge, and she likes making her position known. She's violent, greedy and doens't care who she steps on to get what she wants.

She loves her bright pink hand-gun with her life and goes nowhere without it. Once she used it to shoot a kid in the head, just for the fun of using it.

She despises froot-loops, and she hates toucans. She. Will. Destroy. Them!

Terence pushed his foot down on the foot rest, increasing the speed even more. The wind rippled over his two remaining hairs and pushed at his wrinkled, scraggy face. He bared his gums in a grin, relishing the feel of the cold air flying past him.

"Stop, sir! Slow down!" A faint voice came from behind him, sounding desperate and frantic. Terence slammed down on the brake pedal and wheeled his chair sharply around. Through the dust created by his manouvre an odd, unwieldy creature hurried forward in a shambling run. "A-are you okay? There's a thirty mile an hour speed limit here, you know! You could get hurt!" The boy-man-duck-creature doubled over, breathing in and out of a paper bag.

Terence frowned, though it was barely visible through his deeply etched frown-lines, and pulled out this stick. What a surprise. Another do-gooder giving him safety lectures. As if he hadn't lived through tuberculosis, mumps, measles and at least two variants of the plague! He rapped the thing over the head with his stick. "Speak when you're spoken to, boy!" he snapped.

The thing's face fell. "But - but - I'm a hero! I'm saving you!"

"The only thing I need saving from," Terence wheezed, "is rapskallions like yourself who have the impunity to lecture a venerated elder. What's that on your face? You look like a badly wrapped Christmas present from St. Nicholas's evil twin brother."

The thing blinked furiously, and swiped at its eyes. "It's turbo time! Playpus Turbo Man to the rescue!" it said, more to itself than to Terence, and spun round, raising a fist tentatively.

"Young creature, you seem to have brain rot. Go and consult a doctor or a veterinarian or a slaughterhouse or something, but stop bothering me."

The duck-boy stamped its foot and drew its eyebrows together. "That was mean! You should learn some respect!" it said, standing its ground and trembling a little. Terence looked up sharply. Oh, so the deformed boy had spunk, did it?

"Listen here!" he snapped. The boy-thing jumped and stumbled back. "If you're not a griffing detector or a griffin in disguise then get out of here before I run you over like the inferior breakfast eater you are!"

Turbo thought for a moment. Griffins? He knew what those were, they were the flying things! His goat and llama professors had always told him that he was dumber than a moose, but who was the dumb one now! Well, this actually didn't prove much besides the fact that he was able to vaguely remember what griffins were, but that didn't matter to Turbo. No, something else mattered. Something that he couldn't quite grasp at the moment, but he was working on it.

Suddenly the old man struck him with the stick again. Turbo didn't like that stick, his head had a bump and was starting to throb. "Stop lallygagging and either get out of my way, or show me your griffin tracking devices!" Turbo noticed that the old man was yelling a lot, he must not have many friends.

Suddenly struck by the idea, Turbo's face lit up with excitement. Ignoring the bump on the head, he began to speak excitedly, his voice still muffled by the bag covering his bill. "I know what griffins look like, I could help you find them!"

Turbo was confident that this cranky old person was probably grateful, really deep down, that he had been saved from crashing into something. So, he thought that the man would happily allow Turbo to help him!