Perspective

A series of four short stories, one event from four different perspectives by four different authors. Presented in the order they were written, one author reads the stories that have been written and then writes their version of it. Based around the London bomb attacks.

The Man

He sat on the train, briefcase at his feet. Another day at work. How wonderful. He looked around the train; two teenage girls in school uniforms sat chattering next to him with the cheerful exuberance of the young and carefree, an old man sighed and looked tiredly around at the other commuters. A young mother with tired blue eyes tried to keep her daughter in her seat. The little girl grinned at him, her eyes the same colour as her mothers, but with so much more life. He smiled back and satisfied she turned to watch out the window as the train pulled into the station. He looked at the little yellow flowers on her red shoes. The bomb went off and they knew no more.

By Hannah Owen-Wright.

The Child

Mummy said I have to sit still in my chair. She's angry 'cause daddy was supposed to meet us, but he didn't. There's a man in the chair next to us. His glasses keep slipping off his nose and it's upsetting him. I grin and he smiles back. There's lots of pretty flowers out the window, there's a red one, and a yellow one. Mummy's screaming. What...

By Bryony Higgins.

The Mother

How could he have done this to me? Breaking a promise to his daughter and to me. I don't know how she can be so happy. I really can't deal with all this stress right now. Why can't Jenny just sit still for two minutes. But I don't want to say anything to her right now. She's so happy. Everyday waking up and seeing her is like seeing blossoms of red and yellow flowers. I hope it stays like this always ... forever and always ... "Jenny! LOOK OUT!!"

By Shiksha Sridhar.

The Bomber

"Jack you ready?"

"Um ... yeah"

"Go! Go!"

I don't really understand why they chose me and why I accepted. I'm not ready to do this. Man, my backpack is so heavy, it feels like I'm carrying a ton of bricks, I need to sit down. The little girl in front of me is so ... happy. She has red and yellow hair-ties just like the flowers outside. "Crackle crackle, Jack, crackle crackle, NOW!!" Here it goes, I throw the sphere up, a mother screams, there is a flash of silence, then eternal blackness.

By Libby Beattie.