Lots of Kelston members have tried their hand at writing in one form or another and some are recorded here. New contributions are always welcome.

The Treasure of Quetzlacotla (Extract)
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By Lucas C

The ancient passageway echoed with time as the small band of figures made their way clumsily yet cautiously down the neatly paved flooring. Polished over time by countless polishers who once served in the archaic complex. The torchlight danced upon the walls, skipping across carved symbols and tattered wall hangings.

They had already managed to penetrate to the heart of the temple and had “retrieved’ the golden artefact within its hallowed chamber. It was conveniently placed in the centre of the room where a shaft of sunlight happened to land on it. Where the ray of sunlight came from is anyone’s guess, but this they ignored. Now they were busy retracing their steps, following the path of bread crumbs that they had carelessly dropped as they ate their lunch.

Suddenly, the merry little band of bread-eating, crumb-dropping, ‘treasure-retrieving’ explorers halted, stopped by the eldest and most bearded of the bunch. He held his torch out in front of him hoping to peer through the gloom, but only succeeded in dazzling himself with the bright light.

“What is it, Fred?” A foolish question posed by a fool to a fool.

“I can feel a fresh breeze.”

At the response of Fred, the others in the group all looked at each other and nodded in excitement.

“Which way now?” said the young idiot as he stared down the long straight (un-branching) passageway.

“We’ll carry on straight” said beardy, rather smugly.

Again they looked at each other and nodded in excitement.

Half-way to starting off again a sound from deep within the complex found its way to their sticky ears as it bounced and flopped against the walls like a soggy tennis ball. SWISHHH!

“Hurry!” yelled beardy, his eyes still temporarily blinded by his torch.

As the others broke into a run he broke into a wall. That is to say he ran into a pillar hidden in the shadows and broke his nose. By the time old beardy came round he realised he was all alone...(or was he?). Then came the sound again but a little closer.

SWISHHH!

Wide-eyed and bent-nosed, he stared down the passageway. An eerie almost ethereal light shimmered and moved slowly but purposefully down the passageway.

SWISHHH!... Beardy almost grovelled with fear.

“Crumbs! CRUMBS! And muddy footprints!” bellowed the spirit. “For 10,000 years I lay at rest, so who has disturbed my slumber?”

Beardy had now realised the advantages nappies brought in such situations, and vowed never to forget them again.

“For 10,000 years this floor has been spotless, and now look at it!” boomed the voice for a second time. “Crumbs! CRUMBS! And muddy footprints!”

SWISHHH!

Slowly and purposefully the apparition advanced on the hapless and nappiless man.

Dr Fred was never seen (or smelt) again and the treasure he ‘retrieved’ from the temple is now on display in the British Museum, on a small plinth with a half-polished plaque at the base which reads:

Ancient gold artefact rescued by Dr Hilbert Winos from the ruined temple of Quetzlacotla

Ogwethu (Extract)
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By James U

Mesmerising was his beautiful face. Snow-white skin enchanted, forming a handsome mask capable of lasting an eternity. Across his eyes was tied a dark green bandana, completely blacking out his sight. From underneath flowed tears of blood, giving horrible emotion to an otherwise still and beautiful face. He was as though fully immersed in a kiss of death.
In his wake was left a sorrowful silence. King Ntephe tore his eyes away only to find he had been crying. Looking at the elves to his right, he noticed they too were sharing his incomprehensible pain.
Suddenly the trance was broken as Angatch reached the line of mbachu. Some started and backed away, whilst others remained mesmerised. Suddenly he rushed at them, spinning his sword – two blades back-to-back with a single handle. Before King Ntephe could react, heads of mbachu warriors were sent flying; wrenching apart the dream of sorrow with a more terrible reality.
King Ntephe drew the Blade of Truth and charged towards the greatest of all foe. Obediently his dragon leapt up at Angatch, catching the Evil One in the stomach. King Ntephe sent his sword down simultaneously but Angatch was quick to parry. Speedily the King darted his eyes down at his dragon, only to find that Angatch’s left hand had caught it in midair. Crushing its neck with an iron fist, the Evil One ebbed out the last breaths of its life in moments.
With deadly ease, Angatch span with his blade, decapitating the dragon and cutting King Ntephe in half in a single punishing blow.
As the King fell to the ground in parts, the invisible barrier controlling the dæmons broke free and they poured forth, foaming at the mouth, yielding to an unholy hunger for death and destruction. Leaderless, the mbachu line was broken. Like a tired buffalo being circled by a pack of lions it backed away from the fight in fear, hoping only for an end to the spell of unprecedented confusion.
The dwarves and elves overcame their fear in aid of the mbachu. Shining steel was painted red as the fighting intensified beyond comprehension. Tactics were thrown overboard, leading only to a conflict of will power. For every one dæmon that fell, two stepped into its place; whilst elves, dwarves and mbachu fell by the tens as dæmon hatred solidified into a most terrible blood rage.
Without warning, a tremendous charge of human cavalry swept through the centre of the dæmon lines, which parted only just in time to allow their passage. To the mbachu, the sound of hundreds of hooves in full gallop was the deafening roar of a tsunami, that rose and rose, spreading panic and confusion in its wave of doom. Barded steeds and heavy lances hit the mbachu, scattering them like matchwood. In suffering they fled, caving in the middle defences. Desperately the elves and dwarves redoubled their efforts, but were separated and overwhelmed by the dæmons. With practised ease, Angatch waded forward into the combat, carving to left and right with his blade, leading his dæmons, blood flowing more and more from his crying, blindfolded eyes.
Broke, the strength of the dwarves was. In grim and bitter despair their army folded backwards, hurrying as they could in a fighting retreat. With the pitched blow of a fewetso tusk, the elves made haste in flight. Protecting their backs was the general on steed, who, with her handpicked royal guard, held the tide of dæmons back with a ferocious last fight. As the dæmons overwhelmed them, the noble general tasted the last dregs of her witness to true leadership, giving out her final breath beneath a flurry of descending axes.

The Bullet
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By Ronan M

Anxiety build up,
A flash in my mind.
My body implodes,
Then it leaves me.

My flesh torn,
My senses buzzing.
Muscles tense,
My brain on autopilot.

My body switches off
And is pulled to the ground.
Like the gravity of the sun
My joints collapse.

I feel the numb slap from the floor,
And my fingers feel the dents in the pavement.
I turn my head to the light,
But I can’t focus.

I start feeling cold and strangely damp.
As I feel the flow of blood I start to panic.
My screams wail out like a little girl.
I try and pick myself up unsuccessfully.

My calls are answered by a tall shadow,
And my eyelids are dragged down.
It’s too much effort to move them.
He puts pressure on my wound. I have to trust him.

A group huddle around me,
And many blankets are put on me.
People communicate,
But the words are too distant.

And my mind starts to wander,
About soft yellow beaches and blue waters,
Which drowned my pain away.
I manage a faint smile.

Till I was jolted up into a vehicle.
I felt tired and knew I was going.
I was floating in a dream world.
I was too comfy to move.