All posts by skylerbird


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Jungle- Eeshan Jhingran 10D

Soaring through the air. Well, plummeting actually. The lush green canopies of the amazon were closing up quick. Even at about 100m off the ground, I could see birds of all colours perched in the treetops. But I could also see feral, vicious predators. Nearly hitting the first tree, my stomach lurched. The leaves rustled and tore away from their branches as I pushed through and hit a thick branch. My vision blurred, a warm fluid trickled down from my temple. The branch was just thick enough for me to lie on it without slipping. As black flashes took over, I saw a brilliant orange serpent slowly slither to me. It bared it’s fang, dripping with some black venom as it hissed. And then my world fell away.

Tattooed bloke- Eeshan Jhingran 10D

A sleeve of inked artwork engulfed his arm. It was like a shadow, trying to take over, black ominous figures pranced across his muscular arm. I wondered why would someone get such sinister looking tattoos. The man himself was immaculate, crisp ironed shirt, tie, the whole salaryman façade. Yet, he had this mark of an immature man upon him. Tattoos were a young man’s game— this bloke would be about 50. He had no piercings or anything that would make one think he was blue collar. The most intriguing part of all the tattoos was not on his arm at all, it was the fact that a week ago— when he first came into the clinic to apply for the job, he had no tattoos. My eyes were fixated upon the inking.

Alco by Eeshan Jhingran 10D

Still ecstatic and warm from the wild teenage party, we walked out. It was getting crazy and we didn’t want to get caught up in any mess. Steven had been drinking, alcohol reeked from his breath. There was a questionable stain on his nautica shirt and drops of it on his grey shorts. I figured that he had puked his guts out in the toilet. Myself, on the other hand, was immaculate. Maybe a Dorito stain on the back of my black leathery jacket from when the bowl was dropped from upstairs, I had never tested before in my life— and I didn’t plan on starting any time soon. Steven’s mother had told me to keep him out of trouble, so far I had done my best to do so, whilst still being a friend. I cleaned him up and got him out early. The music was blazing. I could hear people singing along even though we were almost at the end of the street. I looked up, aside from the light pollution and street lamps, the evergreen trees of Hawthorn made the suburb look classy. We walked through the drips of moonlight between trees and the darkness under their canopies. Steven staggered along, half his weight slung on my shoulder. “Oi, watch where you’re staggerin mate” I snapped. He giggled and then tripped over a crack in the foot path. With a goofy smile and I scrape on his nose he slurred “Ahahaha sorry, I’ll try better. Gotta get sober before I get home.” We walked on, getting closer to his home. As we neared the entrance to our shortcut, Camberwell skate park, I shrugged him off. I bent down to my air Jordan’s and tied the shoe laces. I squinted to see if I was even close to grabbing my laces. Steven’s shadow was blocking all the light. “Hey, move a lil, you’re in the way man,” he moved. I heard a revving of an engine. “Hey drunk boy, get away from the road— some hoon seems to be comin.” The car engine got louder. In a deafening screeching of brakes I heard a thud and Steven’s voice. My eyes darted up. I wasn’t wearing my glasses but I saw a number plate TQR638. The tail lights and back of an fd rx7 were quite distinct. The sight of this was burned into my memory. I saw the car zoom away and Steven smashing the ground. Instantly, I knew he wasn’t going to make it. He was positioned awkwardly, must have had some bones broken somewhere. I bolted towards him. He coughed up some blood, I kneeled at his side. “You idiot” I was tearing up. He smiled back at me “don’t worry, you kept you promise.” I was frozen, his warm blood, forming a pool around him. My fingertips and air Jordan’s slowly turning red. “This is it for me man, I can feel it.” My eyes widened. The moon light shone over his tanned skin, his brown hair in all directions. I knew he was almost gone, I could see it in his gray-blue eyes. The metaphorical light was fading from them. “Hey, get your phone out, I want my family to get a vid of my last words” he said. The alcohol still reeked from his breath, but he wasn’t drunk anymore. The shock of getting hit by a car at about 100km/h must have sobered him up a little. I took out my phone, and turned it to video mode. He started with a gentle chuckle, “haha, I guess this is what I get for drinking ey? Don’t worry mom, he kept his promise.” Steven went on about his 14 years of life. He thanked his parents for every bit of it. Quoting stories, chuckling at the things he did wrong. He then went on to his siblings, his sisters and one brother, he grandparents. He started coughing a lot “are you sure you want to go on?” He nodded. I had felt his pulse, there was no way he would have gone further. It was dropping erratically. He said all his thanks to his family in about 1 minute. All this had happened so quickly. He was coughing up blood violently. Narrowly missing the camera. I fought back tears and held it steady as he talked. He thanked his friends for the great times. But, before he was done he wheezed ” no more, this is it.” A calm smile ran over his face. His head fell to the side, his body limp and motionless. I dropped the phone onto his body. I think it was on the vomit stain. I not sure. I couldn’t smell the blood, or the alcohol. I think I went into shock. My head fell back, and is lay on the road, knees tucked, just my upper body had become limp. I cried. After a few minutes I got up, I left him, the phone, I left it all on the road. I walked into the skate park and sat on the edge of a ramp. I sat there for an hour, looking up at the lights, the distant, but bright star. It reminded me of the lion king, how mufasa became a star after his death. I wondered if Steven was there now. I sat there for a good hour.

Hook for a murder mystery- Eeshan Jhingran

I thought, a locked room murder is common. Usually, people are baffled by it. Any crime fiction fan would beg to differ. They’d have their own story inspired theories.

Right now, the bloody body on the ground was a victim of a locked room murder. And though I was a senior detective, I had no idea how this could even work. The victim, as shown by the internal injuries from the autopsy had either been killed by an expert, or a lucky amateur; not by a slit to the throat like it had been set up. What I was certain of, was that the culprit was a genius. I don’t know how they had set it up, but they were a genius.

I looked back at the door, a chain lock— most commonly manipulated with string in constructing a locked room murder. “Sir, this string was on the chain lock, it was probably used in the locking of this room,” a graduate waved an evidence bag in my face. “It’s a highly published method,junior. The autopsy tells us that the murder itself was done by a professional or a lucky amateur. That string… It’s a decoy” I replied.

On a park bench- Eeshan Jhingran

The old man turned towards me, his weary eyes bore into my skull. I stammered a hello. He cockily sighed, “not confident enough,” then, he resumed observing the clear lake in front of us. “Excuse me sir, but would you care to explain your attitude towards my greeting?” I asked. I was fascinated by his quirk, randomly dissing a stranger. “I was hoping for a better greeting, not a stammering fool; I’ve heard that there is a nomadic writer who exudes confidence in every conversation he takes part in. I’m a fan of his work, I’ve been tracking the stories about him and it seemed like this town was going to be his next destination.” I was surprised by this, “well sir, just because I’m no nomadic writer, that doesn’t mean you should be so dismissive.” Again, the old man bore his weary eyes into my own.


I summoned up all my courage to break the rules, in these trenches of cadaver and mud,we were getting nowhere, I snuck out of the trench and into no-mans land, I took all the grenades from the trench supply box and threw grenades in one trench, and ran, I ran back. Now everyone was awake. I ran back to my trench but one of my comrades shot me thinking it was an enemy raid, I felled with pain. The bullet had lodged in my artery. And blood came spurting out life a fountain, the bright red blood wetted my uniform and I was scared of infection. Most people who died of bullets died because they would have green things growing in them after they had been opened.