Young Writers Society

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Pull back the curtain.

It is often said that truth alone can be the healer of many dark situations; however, if the holder of that healing truth cannot see the honest path, then what hope is there for everyone else? The answer is none. There is no such thing as intact truth and because of this, the world suffers greatly. You wouldn’t be entirely wrong to say that living with a certain degree of lies wouldn’t exactly be fatal but you would be, in a sense, misguided. After all, many people associate truth with peace; without each other, there is no rest in the world. The sad fact is…they are separated as we speak; therefore, somewhere in this earth (maybe under our very noses) death or sorrow is consistently appearing. We may not realise it, but peace is a myth; it just doesn’t exist.

What happens when truth and peace do meet? Well, how can we know? Because it seldom happens, we cannot identify a specific line of events related to the mysterious meeting of these two elements; however, we can predict what could become of the world if they should meet.

An account written of peace is rare, (or of course a lie), so this is only something I created;

With an evening sky full of stars above their heads, the men stepped out from the trenches and ran across the barren landscape. The war was over within only a week of it starting and all the soldiers were sprinting to shake hands with what was once the enemy. They met in the middle of the field and threw their arms round each other, shouting out cries of joy. One man in particular, who possessed a long beard pasted in mud, declared his love for England and its Queen.

The scenario ended abruptly with a single gun shot.

Now we re-enter the world of reality. There are a few points to take note of…

1) It would never happen.

2) All of it was a lie so therefore peace could definitely not have come from it and

3) A war is very unlikely to have only lasted a week.

So now back in the real world, we can assume that people aren’t necessarily deliberately lying so there is misguided peace, but occasionally you get those people that are deliberately lying. Those are the people who start the wars, start the problems and start the hatred between communities.

That is exactly what’s going to happen in this story. Yes, you may have thought that I was going to prove this whole beginning wrong; I can’t do that, because that would be lying.

There are many forms of shattered peace in our world including: war, poverty, homelessness, murder, crime and discrimination. The one we are going to pick apart in this circumstance is war.

Is there even a small chance that the curtain will be drawn back and peace released even briefly? We’ll see. We journey forward into the midst of a war; one which will decide the fate of a large community and one that will watch as thousands of people fall in fire, blood and unnecessary hatred.

Low Valley Orchard.

Ironically, we begin on a sun drenched afternoon in late spring. A flock of clouds obscured the sapphire sky ever so slightly but the day was still light and bouncy. A fresh wind whistled through the rows of poplars and cruised through the hair of our first main character. The wind didn’t have to do a lot of cruising seeing as our fellow had very little hair. However, there was some there and that was a light shade of brown. With it came the odd grey hair, but he didn’t seem to mind and would say to his children: “Grey hair represents wisdom.”

His face held a cheery smile as he sat calmly by a small stream that trickled down by his feet. In his hand he held a small scrap of paper. A pen lay to his left.

Searching for inspiration in this orchard wasn’t going to be difficult. Within a few minutes of arriving the man, whose name was John, picked up his pen and began scribbling down what he saw…

As I sit here in Low Valley Orchard, I feel as though it would be impossible for me not to feel moved. Looking around this place is beautiful enough, but when you gaze even closer, you can really recognise the magic that this world holds.

From the grass to the sky, this orchard clutches not only external but internal beauty too.

The lit up sun is ever watching from its post in the heavens; the low down grass is ever dancing in the gentle breeze; even the birds appear to be constantly singing as they flit around effortlessly in the placid air stream.

It makes me sad to think that I may not return here for quite some time. I have to go away. The orchard does not only hold beauty and calm, but also memories. I came here as a child, I worked here as a boy, but best of all I got married here on the afternoon of October 8th 2015. I remember the day very well indeed. It was rather much like this one actually. (Weather-wise that is) Then, of course, we had children. We bring them here every Saturday afternoon after school for an hour or so.

They roll around in the grass, naughtily climb trees and munch on the fresh apples that drop regularly from the branches of the stunning fruit shrubbery.

John smiled to himself broadly when he pictured his children causing havoc. He had three children already with one on the way.

Aged 13, Eloise was the oldest, closely followed by Thomas, aged 11. The youngest was Max, aged 8. Despite the age gaps between the youngest and the oldest, the children got on very well together.

He started writing again…

Now I leave the Orchard for what may be the last time. I leave all my fears here and hope for them to be seized up by the wind and carried far away.

John looked one last time at Low Valley Orchard. He wouldn’t return here again. A letter in the mail was going to take him far away from his hometown. The letter would arrive the following day.