I.

Something I wrote in English lessons. It was meant to be a dystopian world short story, and I'm quite proud, when I remember how short a time I had to write it.

Anastasia Swallow willed her sister, who had the remote, to switch off the TV. It went black abruptly in mid-report. They sat silently on the sofa, staring into the dark of the screen. That was how the future looked: black and silent and dead. Unknown capture. Unknown kidnapper. Unknown fate. Nothingness.

There were four of them, all with green-grey eyes and long flaxen hair to their waists, fifteen years old, expressions of blankness on their solemn faces. Alice, Carolyn and Hope sat together on the saggy colourless couch; Anastasia perched on the arm.

Anastasia stared at the black screen, and before her eyes loomed the shape of a boat, emerging from a shroud of mist. A ship with three masts, and rigging, and cannons. A black moving line of people slowly snaked along the deck, then down into the depths. One of the figures hesitated before descending, and turned her head to look straight at Anastasia. Anastasia flinched as she saw the green-grey eyes, so like her own. It was her mother, who had gone for a holiday, to Italy, and not returned, and never would return, in all probability.

Anastasia allowed her eyelids to blink the vision away. It was just an illusion. Yet how she wished its persistence in appearing to her would cast off and leave the docks of her mind forever. She sighed, and glanced towards her sisters, who were ever-oblivious to the three-masted monster that had declared war on the youngest’s peace of mind.

The End

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