h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

From Chris.the one in Buckingham Palace Now.

The Before Days.


Where once I ran, now I stumble.

Where once I lay, now I fall.

Once a helper, now I am helped.

Where once I laughed, now I cry.

Where once I flew, now I crawl.

Where once I did, now I scrawl.

And the time moves on, as it should.

My time passes, and their time comes.

But my time was broken, I didn’t get

to finish what I was saying, not even

this!!



Chris G2.

The Maid of Sisteron


I see her waiting at the door,
At the door.
Her mother's book lies on the floor,
On the floor.
Lift it girl her mother cries,
Her mother cries.
And with it swat these dam-ned flies.
dam-ned flies.



Gordon Codding MA

The Phantom Hacker

I am the Phantom Hacker
I hack from dusk ‘til dawn.
I’m hard at work when you’re asleep,
forgive me if I yawn.

I am the Phantom Hacker
I do just what I please.
No web site’s safe when I’m on line,
I hack them all with ease.

I am the Phantom Hacker,
the one they cannot catch.
Of all the hackers in the world
I’ve never met my match.

I am the Phantom Hacker,
I’m evil through and through.
The police just don’t know where to look,
they haven’t got a clue.

I am the Phantom Hacker,
with plans to rule the net.
When I’m in charge, you’ll work for me,
I’ll really make you sweat!

So, if you find your web site
has changed beyond belief,
it’s me, the Phantom Hacker,
causing all this grief.

I am the Phantom Hacker,
but who’s outside my door?
You can’t just burst in here like that
and pin me to the floor!

I was the Phantom Hacker,
I thought I couldn’t fail.
I’m only seventeen, you know,
and I’ve ended up in jail.

Arthur Adams

The Sundance Kid


To save Get Writing is my plee
For those of us we all agree
This place is grand you understand
Around the world we are hand and hand
To say with truth, honour and glory
We like it here we have our story
Of love to talk amoungst all who subcribe
My feelings on this I can not hide
To lose a part of all we are
To look for a replacement we have gone far
A reprieve is all we ask of you
To shut us down we will be blue

One more Plee of Compassion title

The Word

They get me into the flameproof suit with the hood up, then the overalls and the helmet, then the cockpit. They do the checks. My radio link and mike are working. I’m on the fourth row of the grid. I’m fast away. Three in front of me take each other out at the first bend, but I’m clear, and stay in touch with the leaders.

‘Be on the podium for this race, you get the second driver’s place.’ The words that let the instinct in. The instinct takes me, takes the car, takes the time. The instinct deals with it, like it always does. A little fierce arrowhead of me does the job, leaving the rest of me freer than at any other time, expanding, filling a wider world, overflowing it.

My brother, saying, ‘You said you’d quit when you’d got your own house and enough to bankroll you. You’ve got twice that already. Why are you still going on?’

My mother, saying, ‘You’re living your dream, boy. It’s not many people can say that.’ She’s living the dream through me. I know that.

Carla, saying, ‘It’s your decision. It always has been. But I’m not letting you give me our babies while you’re still driving. That’s my decision.’

The crowds outside the drivers’ entrance, shouting for me. Somehow, they’ve heard the rumours. ‘You’ll be driving for the big boys next season. Do it for England. You know you can.’

I see all the circuits, all the countries. I see the circus, moving round all of them. It’s a strange life, looping the world, to be seen driving very fast, in circles. Is this getting me somewhere? Mother and the crowd think so.


I see the house, with the garden beyond. Trees to climb. A stream to paddle in. My brother’s kids love it. Carla doesn’t have the TV on for the races any more. She’s doing something she has to think hard about, and waiting for me to phone at the end.

The words team up with instinct. ‘Be on the podium.’ The words pull me into the arrowhead. The words pulse my blood. The words use my eyes to see the third-place driver in front of me. The words mash the pedal to the floor as we round the last bend, and I know I’m going to have him. He shuts the door on me.

The words are with the car. Well, they’re not with me. I’m off in that wider world. I’m cartwheeling, turning, spinning, flying. Boundaries and barriers of the circuit are no barriers to me. I leave the track, the stand, the pits, the car park, and I see the countryside beyond, gentle under golden sunshine, under a soft blue sky with cotton-wool clouds. I think about landing in those clouds. Time goes by. I look at the feathery pine trees.

They catch my helmet strap and strip my hood off. My radio link and mike pull away. I don’t seem to need it now. I realize I can hear swishing, like wind in the grass, like people pushing through bushes, like… me being under the pine trees.

‘Ugh, it’s moving. It’s alive…’ The words that tell me I survive.

Nickyrichfield

Time.

"Time is against us," we used to say when the hands of the clock travelled at twice the speed, ticking and tocking throughout the night as we talked - and later loved - reluctant to ever let go...

Slowly the days would drag, whilst alone. Watching the pendulum's painstaking pace, weary as Old Father Time, we'd grow impatient for the tedium to end. It seemed to take forever...

Forever, in seasons of ease, we whiled the years away. Fate sealed, ideals achieved, the time was now...

We looked at the clock. Time had appeared to decieve us. The onset of age so silent and swift, how long we had left no one knew...

Only time could tell...

carrieann24c

Reflections.


To look in that mirror, what do we see, is someone in there or can that be me?


To look on the back it is just the same, no picture at all, just an unpainted frame.


But check out the edge and see what you see, somewhere in there is the real little me.

Harold Philbin.
LMScott.

BAG OF HAY


Caleb was tired, hungry, and thirsty, as he and his work companion Cephas tried to make their away along the road. Crowds were milling everywhere: in front, behind and at both sides of them. They had never seen so many people at one time.

“Cephas, what are all these people doing here? We can’t move. For every step forward we take, we stop for two, We don’t seem to be making any head way; yet that fat woman on the donkey in front, seems to be cutting through the crowds like a knife through a new wineskin: some people seem to have all the luck,” he muttered.

“Caleb, for one thing, the lady’s not fat, she pregnant; she’s really beautiful too. I caught a glimpse of her as she passed by us before. Secondly, all these people are here because the human king Herod, said that all the people who had been born in Bethlehem had to come and register, and sign a census thingy.” Cephas’ brain absorbed facts like a sponge absorbed vinegar.

“It’s still annoying,” moaned Caleb, “I’m starving and could murder a bag of hay, and what I wouldn’t do for a bucket of water!”

Caleb and Cephas were pulling the cart belonging to the local innkeeper. He had gone on ahead to make arrangements for the people who would be staying at his inn while they were here to register, leaving Caleb and Cephas to make their own way back to the stables; they’d done it many times before.

Every now and then, Caleb and Cephas were aware of someone else being hoisted onto their cart, as yet another mother put her tired child on the flat surface, to ease their little legs.

“It’s all very well, but we have to pull the thing along.” Caleb was not at his best when he was hungry. “And another thing, why is it so light? Look, there’s a star up there that I’ve never seen before, it’s so bright, and it seems to be moving in front of us.”

“Stop moaning Caleb, at least it’s nice and light for us to find our way home. I think it looks nice.” Cephas was the happier of the two, although on occasions he could be a little impulsive.

Suddenly two Roman soldiers, Flavius and Josephus, appeared in front of the cart, causing Caleb and Cephas to pull up sharply. The soldiers held their spears so that they were crossed, and barred the way of everyone behind the cart too.

“What’s this cart doing here? Why hasn’t it been commandeered for our use? Why do these people still have the use of it? Who owns it?” Flavius demanded.

No one answered.

“Come along! Are you people deaf?” the one called Josephus sneered.

“Sorry… sorry, the cart belongs to the innkeeper; he has gone ahead to prepare the inn for those here to fill in the Census,” volunteered an elderly frail man in the crowd.

“Look at the donkeys, Flavius, they’re on their last legs; they wouldn’t be much use to us. What do you think?”

“Perhaps you’re right, Josephus.”

The soldiers moved out of the way, taking their spears with them.
After looking around to make sure that the children were still on the cart, the two donkeys moved off: their heads held high.

The pregnant lady on the donkey, along with her husband, was now nowhere to be seen; the star had stopped moving, and it was shining over the inn when they arrived outside. The children were removed from the cart by grateful parents, who then made their way inside the inn.

Caleb and Cephas, now minus the tired children, made their way round to the stables. The star now seemed to be immediately above them. The stable lad unhitched them, and at last they were free. Caleb was the first in the stables, looking for food and water. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The manger that normally held his hay was now occupied by what looked like – to his eyes – a miniature Egyptian Mummy.

“What’s going on? What’s that Mummy doing in my manger?” He wanted to know. Caleb had been to Egypt, so he knew it was a Mummy. His stomach now thought that his throat had been cut. “Where’s my hay, and my water?” he demanded.

“Caleb, it’s a baby: look, it belongs to that lovely lady. She must have just given birth.” Cephas smiled as he spoke.

The lady was lying by the side of the manger, propped up on her elbow, an enigmatic smile on her face. Her husband was by her side, smiling down at his son. Shepherds, who looked as though they’d just hotfooted it down from the hills stood nearby, also looking at the infant.

Cephas wandered over to the cows and asked Dorcas, the head cow, what was going on?

“Cephas, he’s the one. You know, the one that the Rabbis have been looking for.”

“You mean the Mess…?”

“Yes… Yes… the very one! Isn’t he a beautiful baby though?” Cooed Dorcas.

Cephas went right back to Caleb and told him the good news. Caleb could hardly contain himself he was so excited. To think that he, Caleb, had been privileged to see the outworking of scripture.

His hunger now forgotten, Caleb made his way outside. He was on a mission. He had to tell every animal he met about the scene he’d witnessed; the scene that humans everywhere would be talking about until the end of time.

The birth of Jesus Christ, in Bethlehem.

Bebewriter